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

  “It was rumored that she was sleeping with him. But that’s all it was. A rumor.” His eyes go wide as he finally looks up at me.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like just a rumor now, does it?”

  He shakes his head as his face wrinkles. “I . . . It . . .”

  “You think my father cheated on my mother? My sick and dying mother?” I ask, a little louder than necessary.

  He shrugs. “I never would’ve thought it. He loved your mother. He was devastated when she got sick. She was the love of his life. He’s still never had a serious relationship since then.”

  I thought our family was full of one-woman men. I thought that’s where I got it from—not being able to move on after Casey. My father met and fell in love with my mother when they were still in high school. They dated, fell in love, got married, and had children. When she passed, he vowed that he would never love again, and he’s remained single to this very day. My grandfather was the same with my grandmother. But now I’m finding out that my father cheated on my mother when she was lying in bed sick and dying? And not only that, but he potentially has an illegitimate child out there—a child who wants what’s mine—something I’ve worked for my entire life?

  I shake my head. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” I take the picture and the note and head toward the elevator.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, standing up and chasing after me.

  “To talk to my father.”

  “What about the auction?”

  Fuck. I forgot about the auction. “This is more important,” I tell him, stepping into the elevator. The doors close between us. As I ride down to the lobby, I pull out my phone and send Celeste a quick message, letting her know I won’t be able to make it after all. It pisses me off that I have to let her down on the first thing I promised her, but I don’t have a choice. My whole world is being turned upside down right now. I have to find the truth.

  I jump behind the wheel of my truck, tossing the piece of paper and photo onto the seat next to me. Twisting the key, the loud motor fires to life and I shift into drive. I stomp the gas and the truck leaps forward. My mind is an endless river of confusion, anger, and determination. My father and I don’t have the best relationship, but I refuse to leave without the answers I need.

  My dad lives far out in the country. He’s basically a hermit, never coming into town for anything. I drive up the long dirt driveway, stomping on the brakes when I reach the end. Dirt swirls around the truck as I climb out. My dad is sitting on the front porch with a glass of bourbon in hand. His shotgun is resting at his side as he rocks himself back and forth in the old wooden rocking chair.

  “Well, what have I done to deserve this visit?” he asks, lifting his glass and taking a sip.

  I sit in the empty chair next to him. “I was going through the mail today and found this,” I say, holding out the paper with the picture tucked inside so it’s not visible.

  He looks at the paper in my hand, but doesn’t move to take it. “So?” His tanned, wrinkled skin looks like leather and his dark eyes hold no welcome. He’s an old, bitter man. Exactly what I’ll become if I don’t change my ways.

  “Take it,” I order.

  Instead, he turns and pours himself another glass, not bothering to ask if I’d like one.

  Finally, I open the paper and pull out the picture. “Who is this?” I ask, showing it to him.

  His eyes glance from his glass, to the picture, and back. “No one for you to worry about. That was a long time ago.” He raises his glass and takes another sip.

  “You cheated on Mom? When she was sick?” I can feel the emotions swelling in my chest. That alone tells me that this is no good. I won’t get anywhere with him if I’m emotional. He’s an old man. He was raised—and raised us boys—to be tough, to act like men. In his eyes, being emotional is for women.

  “Back then, that kind of thing wasn’t unheard of,” he says, running his wrinkled hand through his smoothed-down gray hair. “In fact, back then, every man had his wife—the mother of his children—as well as his mistress—the woman he used. You couldn’t treat your wife like you’d treat your mistress. A wife requires respect. A mistress?” He laughs. “Well, they don’t require anything.”

  “Who is she, Dad?” I ask, a little more forcefully.

  He waves his hand in front of his face, dismissing the question. “Who cares? She was a whore who entertained me from time to time when the love of my life was dying.”

  “Who cares?” I repeat. “I care! Apparently, my half-brother or half-sister cares!” I yell, holding up the paper.”

  He lets out a deep chuckle. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, taking another sip.

  “Look at this letter. Who could this be from if you didn’t get your ‘whore’ pregnant?”

  He snatches the paper from my hand and looks it over. “This is nothing more than someone trying to get something for nothing. There was no child. Hell, the relationship only lasted a couple weeks. Once she realized she meant nothing to me, she quit and left town.”

  “Then you really don’t even know if she ended up getting pregnant or not.” I stand up, holding my arms out at my sides as I look down at him.

  He looks up at me but doesn’t bother standing. “There was no pregnancy. This letter is nothing but garbage.” The way he says the words makes me feel as if he truly believes them himself. His voice is deep and even.

  “So you didn’t pay her off?”

  His lips press together in a thin line as he thinks it over. He nods once. “I did give her money at one point, but it wasn’t because a child was involved. She was hurt when she realized we’d never marry, even after your mother’s passing. She couldn’t bear to look at me. She told me she was quitting—it was the only way to move on—but then a week or so later, she met me in the parking lot late one night as I was leaving work. She asked for some money to leave town.”

  “And that’s it. You just gave her some money out of the goodness of your heart, right?”

  He chuckles. “Not exactly. She threatened to spill our secret—to tell your mother about my infidelity. You mom was sick and dying, and I didn’t want her to worry about unnecessary things, so I gave Linda what she wanted. She left and I’ve never talked of her since. Until now, that is.”

  I shake my head, wondering how the hell he could be so naive. He really thought she just wanted money to keep quiet. He never thought there could be a deeper reason for wanting the money?

  Either way, I know I’m not going to get what I’m looking for here. He’s not going to confess all of his sins to me. He’s not even sorry for betraying my mother. I climb back into my truck without another word. I toss the paper and picture into the passenger seat and twist the key. The loudness of the motor cuts through the silence like a sharp knife. As I turn the truck around, I check out my father in the mirror. He’s still sitting in that chair, sipping his drink. He’s staring at the land in front of him; he refuses to look at me or my truck. He refuses to accept anything that doesn’t fit his expectations. Hell, given how little he sees me and the rest of his children, he might as well be dead. He was never a loving man, and that’s only gotten worse since Mom’s passing.

  I drive slowly through the countryside, needing the time to cool off and clear my head. I can’t help but think about my father, his mistress, and my mother. While my mom was lying in bed, slowly dying, her husband was off screwing another woman? How could he even think of doing such a thing? And to then refer to Mom as the love of his life? Ha! I shake my head. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel—so much so that my knuckles turn white. I feel every muscle tighten as the anger surges through my body. I hate this. I hate him. I hate that my poor mother had such a shitty husband. Did she know? Did she know what my father was off doing when he claimed to be working?

  I’ve been driving mindlessly for too long. When I pull myself from my thoughts, I find that I’m driving down Main Street, right toward the bar and the auct
ion that’s probably over by now. Maybe I can slip inside, find Celeste, and tell her how sorry I am for not showing up. I don’t know why I even care at this point, but I need her to see that I’m serious about our deal—that I’m a man of my word.

  I pull into the gravel parking lot and shut off the truck. The place looks packed based on how many cars are in the parking lot. I know walking in there is going to earn me all kinds of looks from the people of this town, but maybe it will show Celeste what she needs to see: how much the people of this town really hate me, and how unlikely it is that they’ll work with us. If nothing else, I’ll at least get to see her again and tease myself a little more.

  I step out of the truck and slam the old metal door behind me. The gravel beneath my boots crunches with my every step. I pull open the door and the loud music from inside filters out, welcoming me. I walk into the bar, and to my surprise, no one stares at me. They all seem lost in their own worlds—drinking and laughing. I head up to the bar and order a beer. The woman behind the bar slides one over and points toward the dance floor. I toss her some money for the drink then look in the direction she’s pointing. My eyes land on Celeste.

  She’s smiling wide and her eyes are glowing as she’s being spun around on the dance floor by another man. She looks sexy as fuck in that short miniskirt and boots. Her white top is hugging every curve, and her tan skin is dewy and glistening from dancing.

  I feel my teeth clench together as I lift the bottle to my lips and take a sip.

  “She’s the new toy in town,” the bartender says. “You better get in line if you want your turn.” She offers a knowing smile before turning around and walking away.

  What the fuck is that supposed to mean: if I want my turn? This woman doesn’t know me. I don’t want a turn with anyone. Yes, I’m attracted to Celeste, but looking around the bar, so is every other man in town. She’s beautiful and sexy. If someone isn’t attracted to her, they’re out of their mind. But just because I find her attractive doesn’t mean I want anything to do with her outside of business. In fact, I’ve never wanted someone so little before. Or more accurately, I’ve never wanted to want someone so little before.

  I shake my head at myself and toss back the rest of the beer. “Bourbon,” I order, needing something a little stronger.

  The bartender gives me a little smile but pours the drink and hands it over. I toss it back quickly, but she’s still standing in front of me, holding the bottle. She pours another like she knows what I’m going to ask for. Hell, I probably look jealous as fuck right now. I’m sure she’s seen this before with every other man in town.

  I take my time with this drink, sipping it slowly while watching her have the time of her life. She never notices me. Her attention stays on the man she’s dancing with. When the song ends, a new man replaces the last one and they start dancing all over again.

  “Why don’t you just go over there?” the bartender asks.

  I shake my head. “Why would I do that? She doesn’t want to dance with an old man. Especially not the town pariah.” I finish off my drink, wanting to wash that word out of my mouth.

  She leans against the bar. “I saw the look on her face when she thought you couldn’t make it. Maybe you’re not as old and washed up as you think.” With a grin, she turns and walks away.

  I get one more drink as I talk myself out of going up to her. I drink it slowly as I watch her. Her cheeks are pink, and her skin is glowing. Her eyes are bright and filled with excitement. She looks like she’s having the time of her life. I don’t want to ruin that for her or confuse her like I’m confusing myself. Why can’t I ignore her like the rest?

  I place my empty glass on the bar and head for the door. I’m hanging my head as I walk across the gravel toward my truck. I want her, but I don’t want to want her. She could only bring more hurt and pain into my life if I reach out and take her the way I want to. I laugh at myself. Hell, it’s not like she wants me anyway. She’s in her late 20s and I’m in my 40s. No way would a beautiful young girl like that want anything to do with a bitter old man like myself.

  “Drake!” someone calls from behind me just as I’m opening the door to my truck.

  I turn around to find her running toward me. “I didn’t even know you were here! Where are you going?” she asks, coming to a stop in front of me. Her chest is heaving from her short jog. It’s rising and falling quickly, and drawing my full attention. “I thought you couldn’t make it?” she adds on.

  “Something came up with my dad. I didn’t mean to blow you off.” I swing the truck door closed and lean against it.

  She offers a coy smile. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t we go inside and get a drink?” She slides her hands into her pockets, looking a little nervous.

  I shake my head. “Nah, I really shouldn’t. I already missed the auction, so I think I’m just going to take off.” I motion toward the road with my thumb.

  “Come on. Stay. Please? For me?” she begs with a grin on her lips. She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. “Let’s get a drink. Get to know each other better.” She bats her long, dark eyelashes at me and I can’t tell if she’s being serious or making a joke to persuade me.

  My eyes are glued to our joined hands. My mouth is suddenly dry. “Nah, I really should be going,” I say, pulling my hand from hers with a surge of determination. I have to go. I have to keep my distance. It’d be too easy to pull her against me, especially right now. She’s been drinking. I’ve been drinking. She seems more carefree and friendly right now, and I don’t want to take advantage.

  “You, Drake Slade, promised me,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes are locked on mine. Our chests are nearly touching.

  I look down into her eyes—big fucking mistake. My mouth opens but no words come out.

  “Come back inside with me. I’ve danced with every guy in this town . . . everyone but you, that is.”

  “Celeste, I . . .” I try, but the words stop when she tugs me back toward the door.

  I don’t put up a fight or argue with her as she drags me to the dance floor. I guess maybe this is part of her plan: let the town see how close we are. If they like her, then maybe they’ll like me by extension. Knowing that, I don’t let this dance go to my head. It doesn’t mean she likes me; it just means she’s doing her job.

  She smiles as she places my hands on her hips. “Come on. Show me what you got,” she laughs sweetly, starting to move against me.

  I grunt and shake my head as I begin moving with her. Her body is pressed against mine, and each wiggle of her hips only teases me that much more. As we dance, I try to think of anything that will keep my body in check: baseball, my father and his mistress, my troubles with this town, but none of it works. I can feel myself coming alive. My blood begins to boil and my blood pressure rises.

  When she turns around and presses her ass against my groin, a soft growl leaves my lips. She feels how excited I am. Suddenly, she stops dancing and turns around to look up at me. Her lips are parted with her heavy breathing, and her eyes are glassy.

  I open my mouth, not even sure of what I’m going to say. To no one’s surprise, no words come out. There we are, standing stock still in the middle of a dozen dancing people. We can’t talk or even move. All we can do is stay locked inside whatever this is. It’s the same whirlwind we were trapped in the night we met. We both know we can’t act on this, but we can’t escape it either.

  Someone dancing near us bumps into Celeste’s back, causing her to fall forward. My arms reach out, steadying her.

  “Thank you,” she breathes out, her hot breath blowing across my dry lips.

  Instead of replying, I do what I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t keep avoiding it. I need it out of the way so we can get back to business. I press my mouth to hers. She’s already in my arms, with her chest pressed against mine. I’m almost shocked when her arms move upward, latching onto the back of my neck as she takes the kiss deeper.

  Her lips are as soft as clouds. Her
tongue is as sweet as the ripest fruit. And the way it moves against mine is fucking heavenly—or I guess in my case, hellish, since I know this is all I’ll ever get. My hands move up, cupping her face, holding her to me as I give the kiss my all, my everything. I kiss her like she’s the air I need to breathe. I kiss her like she’s my lifeline and I need her to survive. Then she lets out a whimper and I feel her shiver against me. The sensation is like an electric current, and I’ve gotten too close. She literally sends a shockwave through me.

  I pull away from her as fast as I can. Her eyes are wide with surprise and glassy with fresh tears. Her lips are red, swollen, and glistening from our kiss. Her chest is heaving with excitement, and her face is turning pinker by the second. Is she embarrassed because I pulled away? Does she think I’m turning her down in some way? I hope not, because in this moment, the only thing I can think of doing is pulling her out of this bar and into my truck, where I can drive her home and spend the rest of the night buried inside her.

  But. That. Can’t. Happen.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her so softly I’m not even sure if she heard me. Without another word or waiting for a reply, I turn and leave the bar as quickly as I entered it. Pushing through the door into the cool night air, I feel more awake and refreshed. I breathe the crisp air deep into my lungs. I take every step toward my truck with determination. I need to get out of here, away from her. I don’t even remember being this drawn to Casey all those years ago. There’s just something about Celeste that pulls me in. I don’t know what it is or why I can’t ignore it, but I fucking hate it. I hate anything that tries to control me. I’m my own man; I can do as I please. So why the fuck can’t I keep my distance when it comes to her?

  I rip my truck out of the parking lot at lightning speed, but the drive home is slow. I need time to think. I need time to get this straight in my head. Why did I go to that bar? Why did I let her talk me into going back inside? Why did I dance with her when I knew it would only tease me?