Braving The Storm: An Age Gap, Cowboy Romance (Crimson Ridge Book 2)

“Is there anything you miss most from your competing days? You know, being the champion rodeo starlet and all.”

“I don’t miss the injuries.” My cowboy grimaces. “Luckily, I never truly got smashed up like some of the other guys. A couple of broken ribs here and there, a few torn muscles, but there were some nights when one of the others would enter the arena expecting to win a buckle, and instead of going home after the show they ended up in intensive care.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you did it.” Resting my head on his broad chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my ear is so damn reassuring.

“You don’t wish I was still that guy?” His fingers play with my hair, while I lie curled into his side, and there’s a hint of something faint and soft in that question, a tiny light cast on the complexities of Stôrmand Lane. “The guy you’re busy drooling over on those video clips you keep watching on repeat like an addict.”

The teasing in his voice doesn’t disguise the way he asks with more than a touch of sincerity.

“No way.” Tilting my head so that our eyes can lock, I reach out and brush my fingers over his lips. “I like this guy.”

Storm rubs a strand of my hair as if deep in thought, and gently kisses the pads of my fingertips.

My entire body melts into a puddle.

I love him beyond anything I ever thought possible.

“I miss the sense of family on the tour… we were a pretty tight-knit bunch. Traveling and supporting each other on the road. I’d never really had that before, and then it was all taken away virtually overnight after Tegan passed.”

As he speaks, I watch his throat move and feel the rumble of his morning voice, and I would happily stay right here forever if I could. Despite all our past hurts, we’ve somehow managed to both still be left standing even though there might have been days when it felt impossible to do so, thanks to the circumstances we found ourselves in.

“I don’t blame them.” Storm adds. “Probably the pressure from their sponsors, managers, and just the day-to-day bullshit of a pro career. I didn’t need to be dragging them down with me when the pro tour decided I no longer fit in their comfortable little box, so it was easier to vanish, fall off the map, you know.”

My heart hurts for him that the actions of someone else, someone he hardly knew, took away his career.

“I wish someone had been there for you.”

“Beau was, even when I was a dick and didn’t deserve his time. That’s why I’d do anything for him. He was one of the only ones who kept in contact, even though he had the biggest public profile out of all of us on the pro tour, and it could have all blown up in his face. Beau came to visit and slept on that god-awful couch and made sure I wasn’t sitting out here with a loaded gun and a bottle and a head full of black thoughts.”

We lie there in silence together for a while as I trace the lines of ink down the side of his neck, and he keeps playing with my hair.

“I bought pills once,” I whisper the confession I’ve never shared with anyone. “About six months after the wedding, I sat in my bathtub at three a.m. and drank half a bottle of vodka… but couldn’t go through with it. I think I swallowed like two pills, then ended up bawling and passing out.”

Storm makes a low, velvety noise that travels through my entire body. It’s comforting and warming, and as the ripple of that humming sound extends everywhere like a soft glow, he wraps me tighter. Hugging me to his chest, encased securely within his powerful arms, the man who owns my heart takes a deep inhale through his nose.

“I’m happy you’re still here, darlin’.”

“You’re certain the property in Crimson Ridge is untouchable?” My steps have nearly worn through the tiles of this ostentatious kitchen while I’ve been pacing up and down, speaking with Clara on the other end of the phone line.

I don’t give a fuck that Antoine or Crispin might record or listen in on this entire conversation; in fact, I’m perfectly happy if they hear what my lawyer has to say. It just adds weight to the fact that even though they might threaten to scrub my name from anything relating to Lane Enterprises—not that I want a rotten cent to come my way from now on—I have an assurance that they cannot touch my home.

“No, Briar. You’re entirely safe, that property has, in fact, always been in your name, it was never legally your father’s. I can see from the documents here in front of me, the trust was set up not long before your birth, by Jan and Ingrid Lane.”

“My grandparents.” I breathe out a little shakily.

“Yes, they left the Crimson Ridge property registered to a trust under your name; legally, you own it. However, until you reached the age of eighteen, your father was considered the party responsible… you know, before you were an adult kind of deal.”

“So, what you’re saying is that my father hid it from me.”

“I wouldn’t like to make assumptions…”

“He hid it from me.” I nod my head to myself while taking in the ghost of my reflection in the glass overlooking the swimming pool.

“It does appear like he wasn’t interested in allowing you to know it existed.”

“That’s fancy lawyer speak that I shall choose to interpret as: your dad was a first-class asshole.”

Clara chuckles and doesn’t say anything.

“Well, we know he was busy hiding a lot of things, so here we are.”

“How are you feeling about all of this? Remember, I will be right here if you need to deflect any questions my way.”

As she says the words, I hear the front door open, and voices echo off the polished tiles.

“Ok, they’re here. We’re really doing this. You’ve got the car waiting for me?” Chewing the inside of my lip, I drop my voice a little lower.

“The driver is already parked outside. If they try anything, I’ve got my contact at the local station doing a routine patrol of your street, and they can be at your house within minutes if needed.”

“Just make sure it’s not me who’s the one getting arrested if they do get called in.”

“Don’t actually bite them, and you should be good.” Clara deadpans. “You know what? On second thought, do what you want, I’m sure I can make it seem like you tripped and fell teeth-first.”

Blowing out a low breath, I put the phone on speaker and lay it flat on the gleaming white bench. In the exact same spot where I left the evidence of Antoine’s rampant infidelity a couple of months ago.

As I watch both my soon-to-be ex-husband and my sister arrive, I plaster on the fakest smile I can muster, considering the circumstances.

“Briar, this needs to be quick. I’ve got meetings on my calendar all afternoon.” Antoine doesn’t even look up from his phone. My sister trails behind him, evidently still with that stick firmly wedged up her bony ass.

“Oh, don’t worry, it won’t take long at all. In fact, I have to meet my own lawyer shortly, so it’ll be worth all of our while if we handle this promptly.”

I glance quickly at the phone, seeing Clara’s name still illuminated on the screen as she listens in.

Cris rolls her eyes. “Typical, Briar. Making this all about you and being hysterical. Did we really need to come all the way out here for whatever this is?” She dumps her handbag on the countertop and adjusts her high ponytail. My sister sports her requisite cream-colored, matching designer yoga bra and leggings, looking every inch the LA native.

Ignoring her snipe, I gather up one of the piles of paperwork already laid out before me.

“Antoine, I need your signature on these documents, please.” I push the tabbed and annotated divorce papers toward him with a pen. “Crispin, I don’t want, or need, anything from you, but this should make it nice and easy for us to never have to cross paths again, as this is my statement and legal filing already submitted to the Lane Enterprises board.”

Scooping up the second set of papers, I shove them in her direction.

In my head, I start counting down.

Five.

Four.

Antoine screws his nose up and lifts a couple of the pages with a forefinger, before letting them drop, then sneers back at me.

Three.

Crispin skim reads the first couple of paragraphs on her page and starts laughing.

Two…

“Are you fucking for real?” Antoine snaps. “I’ve already told you, this arrangement isn’t going to be anything but the business deal your father promised me. I’m not signing these.”

“You’re the dumbest bitch alive.” My sister shakes her head. “What’s your plan? To run back to the mountains, shack up with our uncle, and have his babies like some hillbilly whore? You’d never outrun those headlines.”

She gives me an ugly smile, and Antoine does the same. His face already contorting into an expression that tells me he’s got the threats ready to fly, his way of attempting to drag me obediently back into line.

Not this time, douchebag.

“Here’s a headline for you.” Spinning the first of the pages from my third stack of documents around, I hand them a duplicate copy each. “How about something catchy like, ‘Lane Enterprises founder groomed a minor, impregnated her, and then refused to acknowledge either her, or the baby.”

They both hardly look at the printout before them, eyes bouncing up to glare at me.

“Oh, yes, let’s just clarify that little detail, shall we, Cris? Seeing as you happily followed Dad’s lead in spouting the bullshit rumors that Tegan Mitchell was pregnant. Whereas her healthy baby boy was actually born prior to Tegan’s death.”

I take their continued silence as my opportunity to keep pressing forward.

This time, I pluck the duplicate copies of the photo showing my father with his arm around the bared waist of a very young teenage cheerleader. She beams at the camera, all of fourteen, complete with her blonde curls, red lipstick, and a distinctive beauty mark on her upper lip.

“Or, what about, ‘underage statutory assault by Erik Lane revealed: the man who covered up his depravity by planting a girl in front of his brother while blackout drunk, just so he could use the excuse that she was Stôrmand Lane’s wife as a way to keep her in secret at his apartment.’”

Cris turns bright red.

Antoine might burst a blood vessel from the look of him.

“Do either of you need to sit down? Want a glass of water?” I smile and cock my head to one side.

“What is this shit, Briar? I didn’t think you’d stoop as low as making up outrageous lies. I should have you fucking committed.” My sister finally rediscovers her forked tongue.

“No. What I’m doing here is providing an opportunity for both of you to not end up in jail for aiding and abetting a man who was a predator.”

I take a deep breath and smooth down my hair.

“Tegan Mitchell didn’t specify who she referred to in the note she left, and the convenient assumption that played into the hands of our father was that it was her husband—even if they were only married on paper—who drove her to take her own life.”

Tapping the papers in front of me, I fix my sister with an unflinching stare.

“As it turns out, she meant our father all along. No wonder he was so eager to cover every little sordid detail. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight when she wrote something non-specific, maybe she was scared right ‘til the end, and that’s why she didn’t outright name him, or maybe she was simply trying to protect her newborn son from his own biological parent. Either way, she left it all detailed for her own parents. An attempt to give them closure knowing how much pain they would be in.”

The air in here is so thick you could slice it in two.

“I doubt you’ll want to look through all of these documents right now, but I have had my attorney copy you into the files via email, so you can enjoy perusing them at a later, more convenient time. Although, Cris, you’re familiar with all these details, aren’t you? You’re more than familiar with all the details of Tegan Mitchell’s child being born prior to her passing. While I don’t want to make assumptions, since you were well aware of our father’s efforts to make sure the story stuck that she was still pregnant at the time, I doubt you’ll need to take a look over things.”

“This doesn’t win you a divorce, Briar. You can trash your fortune if you want, but I’m still owed the connections to Lane Enterprises your rotten fucking last name gives me on our marriage certificate.”

Antoine leans on the counter, narrowing his eyes on me.

I straighten my spine and glare right back.

“Actually, it does. Because Montgomery Media arranged for corporate entertainment that, for some strange reason, always seemed to include a performance by a certain high school cheer squad. Not only was my father grooming Tegan Mitchell while she was still underage, but your very own family and business were the agency ensuring he could get away with it right in the public eye.”

He sneers my way. “That’s bullshit. You can’t prove anything.”

“Would payments made directly from Montgomery Media into the bank account of a fourteen-year-old do? What about transcripts of text messages and emails? Tegan might have been young, but she was intelligent enough to keep records.”

Antoine curses beneath his breath, knuckles going white against the countertop. “You’re a foul little cunt.”

“And you’re a filthy fucking cheater who is going to give me that divorce right now. You’re going to sign those papers; otherwise, my attorney is going to press send on her own media release…” I check the time on my phone screen. “Oh, in about the next ten minutes, give or take. If I’ve calculated my time zones correctly, it should land just in time for a breaking news headline on the evening bulletins across the UK and Europe embroiling Montgomery Media in a child prostitution ring and the subsequent death of Tegan Mitchell.”

Shouldering my handbag, I gather up the remaining copies of evidence that I don’t even need to bother showing them. “But what would I know? I’m just a dumb bitch, right?”

“Dad regretted you being born.” My sister spits out her last jab of poison, and I don’t even care. I’m so fucking done.

“Considering that he drove a young woman to end her own life, coerced his own brother to marry his hidden secret while under the influence, and refused to claim a child that was his… I don’t really give a shit what he thought about me.”

“The Mitchells signed an NDA. I’ll make sure they get dragged through the most painful, expensive lawsuit I can come up with if they breathe a word.” Cris has almost gone purple as she sees her precious Lane Enterprises potentially collapsing around her ears.

“Oh, they’re not going to say anything. However, the company’s board is now fully briefed and has been made aware of my final act as a primary shareholder. They have signed off on a new trust fund that all the shares I had previously been entitled to as a result of Dad’s estate shall be paid into immediately. I’ve also instructed the company that Dad personally informed me of his insistence to go ahead with back-paying them share profits for the past ten years… you know, his lasting contribution to recognizing the important work of adoption agencies around the country. It’s all detailed on page five.”

Cris quickly flicks through to the part of the document where the annual multiple seven-figure donation is listed, along with the total sum of back pay covering the past ten years.

“Our brother might have been screwed over by you and Dad, but I’ll gladly ensure he benefits financially, and I’m sure that boy will live a much healthier and more peaceful life having absolutely no knowledge of his connection to the Lanes.”

As I talk, I watch Antoine hover over the documents, pen in hand, but yet to actually connect with the tabbed lines requiring his signature.

“Look, Antoine… we can do this right now, just a few quick signatures, or we can fight this out in a war of dirty secrets in the public eye. Think of it this way, give my freedom to me, and you’re free to go rub your tiny dick over as many Hampton’s socialites as you want and schmooze up to all their Ivy League Club papas to bag yourself a rich ornament who will happily sit around this place playing LA housewife.”

He looks as though he’s about to start arguing with me, then checks his watch.

“Fine. Run back to your little game of incest by proxy.”

Laughing now, I cross my arms. “I don’t expect you to understand any of this because you’ve never cared about anything or anyone other than your own over-inflated ego. So no, what I’m going to do is go live my life. I’m going to do something good in this world, and I’m going to do it all with a man who stands by my side and understands me better after a matter of weeks than the likes of you people have done in twenty-six years.”

I rip the papers away from him as I see that he’s signed the final location and do a quick double-check to confirm I’ve got everything I need from him.

My sister has remained suspiciously quiet this entire time, and when I look over at her, there’s so much rage flowing through her veins that it only takes a second. She launches at me, quickly rounding the kitchen bench, and slaps me square across the face.

“Get the fuck out of my life, Briar. You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Her voice trembles, high-pitched and screeching.

The hit blooms into a rash of heat under the force of her assault. It stings like a bitch, and leaves my head spinning.

You could hear a pin drop in this marble and glass-clad mausoleum.

“Are you ok, Briar?” The concern in Clara’s voice cuts through the silence over the speakerphone, only punctuated by my sister’s heavy breathing.

“I’m fine, thanks, Clara, I’m ready for the driver now.” Rubbing my jaw with my free hand, I look at my sister with nothing even remotely like anger. All I feel is sorry for the misery she’s chosen to let fester inside her all this time.

“Crispin, I hope to never see you again as long as I live, but do me a favor and go to therapy… or better yet, take up woodchopping.”

Turning on my heel, with quick strides toward the front door, I feel the weight of the past years of my life melt away as each foot brings me closer to the sparkling midday sun dancing outside.

For the first time in my life, I’m officially free.

With a trembling, trepidation deep inside my chest, as I rub one hand over the leather cuff still secured around my wrist, all I can hope is that the man I left behind might have been willing to wait all this time for me.