Summary:
Micah and Daniel loved each other -- until a devastating tragedy tore them apart. But when they both return to Whisper Ridge, they gain a chance to heal old wounds if hatred can turn to love... an intense and emotional romance.
Micah Lennox left Whisper Ridge after promising the man he loved that he would never return. But the only way he knows to keep his pregnant sister and nephew safe is to go home. Spending winter in Wyoming opens too many old wounds, but he's on the run from justice which can't be far behind, and this is his last chance at redemption.
After a hostage situation leaves Doctor Daniel Sheridan struggling with PTSD, he returns to Whisper Ridge. Joining his dad in family practice is a balm to soothe his exhausted soul, and somehow, he finds a peace he can live with. That is until he meets Micah in a frozen graveyard, and the years of anger and feelings of betrayal boiling inside him, erupt.
Micah and Daniel have a past that was destroyed by lies and tragedy, and even if hate could turn to love, will Micah stay at Whisper Ridge?
Summer Drifter #2
Summary:One man craves family, the other isolation; neither of them was searching for love.
Experienced and much-in-demand horse trainer Levi doesn't need or want people. With his horse and dog at his side, he lives out of his trailer and trains horses in the summer to earn just enough to head south for winter. Infrequent hook-ups with no-tell cowboys takes care of sex, but the moment any connection gets anywhere near complicated, he moves on. Losing a lover to violence has taught him that if he's alone he can't get hurt, and in return, he avoids the pain of loss. Everything in his easy-going life is on track until he knocks over Quinn, a pink-haired stranger who pirouettes in front of his truck, sits in his lap and calls him cowboy with the sexiest voice he's ever heard. Anger turns to frustration, lust turns to love, and by the end of the summer, Levi doesn't know which way to turn.
Quinn loses everything when the cops find his brother's body on the remains of a compound that belonged to a cult. Damaged and vulnerable, Max had been the only safe place for Quinn in his otherwise cold family, but finding out that Max might have had a son sends Quinn to Wyoming and the Lennox Ranch. When he's knocked to the ground on day one at the ranch, he wonders if maybe he should have thought things through better. After all, he'd bought two horses and a house to get close enough to Lennox ranch just to see if he was an uncle. He craves love, connection and is excited to be part of a family, searching for a place where he can finally stop running. He never meant to fall for the closed-off cowboy, but somehow Levi steals his heart and Quinn falls in love.
Winter Cowboy #1
Original Review March Book of the Month 2018:
When Micah Lennox promised the man he loved he would never return he intended to keep that promise but now he has to protect his pregnant sister and nephew. Whisper Ridge and the family ranch is the safest place he can think of to do just that. Dr. Daniel Sheridan has returned to Whisper Ridge after a hostage situation has him living with PTSD and a certain level of survivor's guilt. The last thing he wants to hear is that his former lover has broken his word to stay away. Will Micah and Daniel be able to leave the past where it belongs and find a new future living in the same community or will the heartache and pain of long ago win out?
First, I just want to say a huge thank you to RJ Scott. Not only is the book amazing but because of its awesomeness, I had an amazingly entertaining and relaxing trip to the Mayo Clinic. It turned one of those "routine" days with Mom's doctors(you know the kind where you have to be there at 7am for blood, than 9 for an x-ray and then sit around till 4pm for the doc) into . . . well like I said it was just relaxing and entertaining, I got more than a few sideway glances when I gasped or grinned like a chesire cat but I loved every minute of it, so once again Thank You, RJ for making a long strung out day not so long and not so strung out.
Now as for the story, don't think because I used the term "relaxing" that its all sunshine and unicorns, oh no quite the opposite really. Winter Cowboy is full of drama, heartache, and tears BUT its also jam packed to overflowing with amazing characters, incredible settings, second chances, and heart. I'll admit that Daniel grated on my nerves at times with putting all the blame on Micah for the past, which I won't spoil, but I am going to say as a reader hearing both sides if I was in Daniel's shoes I would like to think I would be more honest about the situation but I can't say for certain I would do it differently. Sometimes fate has their own clock, we may not agree with how its set but it usually gets us where we need to be and when. I will admit I loved how both Micah and Daniel had issues to deal with and accept, more often than not it comes down to one character with the problem and the other "dealing" with it but not these boys they are both looking for a second chance.
I just want to finish by saying I have read many books and many authors over the years, both as a blogger and my personal reads and I have a small list of authors who continually ingratiate the secondary characters into a story to make them more than just window dressing, page filler, or fodder for the bad guys and RJ Scott is at the top of that list. Whether its a character that will probably be at the center of a future tale(😉😉hint, hint at Neil😉😉), family that gives the main characters reason to return, or that judgmental couple you really want to knock on their ass. They all add something that makes the journey better and has left me hungry for more from Whisper Ridge, Wyoming. I can't wait to see what RJ has in store next for this ranching community.
When Micah Lennox promised the man he loved he would never return he intended to keep that promise but now he has to protect his pregnant sister and nephew. Whisper Ridge and the family ranch is the safest place he can think of to do just that. Dr. Daniel Sheridan has returned to Whisper Ridge after a hostage situation has him living with PTSD and a certain level of survivor's guilt. The last thing he wants to hear is that his former lover has broken his word to stay away. Will Micah and Daniel be able to leave the past where it belongs and find a new future living in the same community or will the heartache and pain of long ago win out?
First, I just want to say a huge thank you to RJ Scott. Not only is the book amazing but because of its awesomeness, I had an amazingly entertaining and relaxing trip to the Mayo Clinic. It turned one of those "routine" days with Mom's doctors(you know the kind where you have to be there at 7am for blood, than 9 for an x-ray and then sit around till 4pm for the doc) into . . . well like I said it was just relaxing and entertaining, I got more than a few sideway glances when I gasped or grinned like a chesire cat but I loved every minute of it, so once again Thank You, RJ for making a long strung out day not so long and not so strung out.
Now as for the story, don't think because I used the term "relaxing" that its all sunshine and unicorns, oh no quite the opposite really. Winter Cowboy is full of drama, heartache, and tears BUT its also jam packed to overflowing with amazing characters, incredible settings, second chances, and heart. I'll admit that Daniel grated on my nerves at times with putting all the blame on Micah for the past, which I won't spoil, but I am going to say as a reader hearing both sides if I was in Daniel's shoes I would like to think I would be more honest about the situation but I can't say for certain I would do it differently. Sometimes fate has their own clock, we may not agree with how its set but it usually gets us where we need to be and when. I will admit I loved how both Micah and Daniel had issues to deal with and accept, more often than not it comes down to one character with the problem and the other "dealing" with it but not these boys they are both looking for a second chance.
I just want to finish by saying I have read many books and many authors over the years, both as a blogger and my personal reads and I have a small list of authors who continually ingratiate the secondary characters into a story to make them more than just window dressing, page filler, or fodder for the bad guys and RJ Scott is at the top of that list. Whether its a character that will probably be at the center of a future tale(😉😉hint, hint at Neil😉😉), family that gives the main characters reason to return, or that judgmental couple you really want to knock on their ass. They all add something that makes the journey better and has left me hungry for more from Whisper Ridge, Wyoming. I can't wait to see what RJ has in store next for this ranching community.
Summer Drifter #2
Original Review April 2024:
I have no excuses for why it took my nearly 3 years to read Summer Drifter. I loved the first book in the Whisper Ridge, Wyoming series, Winter Cowboy, when it first released back in 2018 and I remember being ecstatic to find book 2 was finally coming. When I say "finally" I don't begrudge the author on the delay because the author can only go where the characters take them and I respect that, I use "finally" only to express the level of YAY I was experiencing. If you must have a reason so that you don't think I was disappointed in the blurb here it is: in 2020 I turned to more viewing forms of distraction to get through Covid and it really put a whopper of a kibosh on my reading mojo which if I'm 100% honest has only just returned to any level of pre-pandemic levels and the summer of 2021 found my mother in hospital and me in a hotel for 108 days(non-covid reasons) so there were many books that normally would have been immediate reads finding themselves nearly buried in my never-ending TBR list.
So back to Summer Drifter.
As stated above the delay had nothing to do with unhappiness with the book, truth is, though I think in my heart Micah and Daniel will forever hold the top spot in the Whisper Ridge shelf I do think this overall story drew me in more. I think that all comes down to the "cowboy norms" being a bit knocked on it's side when it comes to Quinn and Levi and their personalities, in and out of the bedroom. I've read others where they don't always follow the stereotypical guidelines(for lack of a better, simpler phrase) but there was just something about these two men that I found refreshing. Maybe it was the blending of stereotyping and knocked on their backside that did it, a certain level of what I call snark and cuddle, or maybe it was just because the anticipation and adrenaline rush from having waited so long? Whatever "it" was, "it" blew me away.
As for Levi and Quinn? There are definite moments of lack-of-communication drama but I get it, I understand that neither exactly have the history that screams "Open up to him!" "Be honest!" "He(or they in Quinn's case of wanting to see connections to his deceased brother) will understand!". Let's face it, without drama life can be boring and without fictional drama books can be vacation pamphlets. Quinn may be a fish out of water at the Lennox Ranch but his free spirit is something we can all use a little of in our lives. Levi guards his heart by not letting anyone in but when a certain pink-haired strangers falls in his lap Levi is in trouble. Together they may look opposites attract but deep down the things that made them protect their hearts and family is what proves they aren't as opposite as appearances thought.
Summer Drifter may have been a long time wait for me but boy was it worth it!
Winter Cowboy #1
Chapter 1
2009, Daniel
A figure stood beside Isaac’s grave and I knew immediately who it was.
There was no marker yet for the boy who had died two weeks ago and who would forever be nineteen. Flowers marked his resting place, but snow had long since covered them and softened the raised earth so it wasn’t as obvious against the gravestones around the figure. A car accident had taken Isaac, killed him on impact, and his family grieved for a future that would never be realized.
I’d just left my brother, Chris, in the hospital, broken beyond repair in the same accident. At least we had the possibility of a future with him, even though the road to recovery would be hard. He was still in a medically induced coma, not yet awake to know he’d lost his leg, or that fire had marked his face. But he would wake up. They told us he’d live.
No one had asked me where I was going when I’d left Chris’ room, each of us lost in various stages of shock and grief, and we all dealt with what had happened in our own way. I’d needed to connect with Isaac. Needed the peace to balance the loss and guilt that ate away inside me.
Isaac dead on impact, Chris’ future destroyed, and in front of me, hunched over Isaac’s last resting place, was the man responsible for it all.
The man who left my bed in the dead of night to become a murderer.
Micah.
He was huddled into his coat, the January ice bitter by the buried, hands forced into his pockets, and his hood pulled around his face. Micah must have heard me, because he glanced my way, startled, grief written on his face. And then his expression changed.
He stepped toward me, his expression full of something like hope.
“Daniel?” he said. “Is Chris okay? No one will let me see him.”
He stopped walking when I didn’t reach out for him and looked at me uncertainly.
“His leg is gone, down from his knee,” I explained dispassionately, and then touched my face, “and his burns are bad, the left side of his face from his temple to his chin.”
“Shit. Shit.” Micah bent at the waist, as if he couldn’t breathe, and he was crying.
“How is it you don’t have a mark on you?” I asked, still eerily calm, and utterly focused.
He took his hand from his pocket, and pulled up his sleeve, exposing bandages. “I was burned,” he began. He dropped his hand when I didn’t comment, forced it back into his pocket, wincing as he did so.
I imagined the burn hurt a little, maybe even a lot, but he was there, as whole and real as when he’d left my bed on that terrible day.
In my mind I saw Chris in the hospital, the covers raised over the cage which protected his surgical site, then dipping lower where his ankle should have been. I saw a clear image of Isaac the day before he died, knocking for Chris and grinning at me as if he had the greatest secret to tell his best friend.
And here was Micah, telling me he had slight burns on his arm? The same man who’d told me in one breath that he loved me and then had stolen my car, driving it into a bridge and killing one boy, leaving another maimed and in a coma.
My fist flew, clenched aggression targeting Micah’s face, his cheekbone, and I heard a satisfying crunch. He staggered back a step, but he didn’t go down, and he didn’t take his hands from his pockets. I was too fast. I hit him again, blood flecking his face, dissipating into the icy air. He moved again, the force of my blows shoving him back.
Still, his hands remained in his pockets, and he was unnervingly quiet, taking my hits as if they were nothing at all. Another punch connected with his lip and split the skin, and this time he grunted in pain. He staggered backward toward the next grave and bent back over the stone marker with the force of that final blow. I stepped closer. I hit him again, connecting with his jaw, but the hit wasn’t hard. There was nothing to it; he didn’t move away.
“You took my car,” I yelled, right in his face.
“You said I could borrow it,” he pleaded.
I raised my hand to hit him again, but he winced, and closed his eyes, and I wanted him to look at me. “Open your damn eyes!”
He did, and he wouldn’t avert his gaze, naked grief in his expression.
“Daniel, please listen.”
“You’ve destroyed Chris’ life.”
“I know.”
“You need to leave Whisper Ridge, and never come back. I don’t want to see your face, I don’t want Chris to ever see you again. You understand?”
“I understand,” his tone low and broken.
“You will never come back here.” I shook him. He was smaller than me, thinner, lighter, and I shook him so hard his head snapped back. “Promise me!”
“I pr—promise,” he said through tears.
I was disgusted by him, hated him, wanted to kill him right there on Isaac’s grave.
“I hope they lock you up and throw away the fucking key!” I was still shouting, and he didn’t move, just stared at me with those pale eyes, red and wet from crying. He wouldn’t stop crying. “Don’t fucking stare at me!”
I shoved him one last time, and then before I could work out what the hell I was still doing there shouting at him, I pivoted and turned my back on him, and on Isaac’s grave, and the entire carnage.
2009, Daniel
A figure stood beside Isaac’s grave and I knew immediately who it was.
There was no marker yet for the boy who had died two weeks ago and who would forever be nineteen. Flowers marked his resting place, but snow had long since covered them and softened the raised earth so it wasn’t as obvious against the gravestones around the figure. A car accident had taken Isaac, killed him on impact, and his family grieved for a future that would never be realized.
I’d just left my brother, Chris, in the hospital, broken beyond repair in the same accident. At least we had the possibility of a future with him, even though the road to recovery would be hard. He was still in a medically induced coma, not yet awake to know he’d lost his leg, or that fire had marked his face. But he would wake up. They told us he’d live.
Isaac dead on impact, Chris’ future destroyed, and in front of me, hunched over Isaac’s last resting place, was the man responsible for it all.
The man who left my bed in the dead of night to become a murderer.
Micah.
He was huddled into his coat, the January ice bitter by the buried, hands forced into his pockets, and his hood pulled around his face. Micah must have heard me, because he glanced my way, startled, grief written on his face. And then his expression changed.
He stepped toward me, his expression full of something like hope.
“Daniel?” he said. “Is Chris okay? No one will let me see him.”
He stopped walking when I didn’t reach out for him and looked at me uncertainly.
“His leg is gone, down from his knee,” I explained dispassionately, and then touched my face, “and his burns are bad, the left side of his face from his temple to his chin.”
“Shit. Shit.” Micah bent at the waist, as if he couldn’t breathe, and he was crying.
“How is it you don’t have a mark on you?” I asked, still eerily calm, and utterly focused.
He took his hand from his pocket, and pulled up his sleeve, exposing bandages. “I was burned,” he began. He dropped his hand when I didn’t comment, forced it back into his pocket, wincing as he did so.
I imagined the burn hurt a little, maybe even a lot, but he was there, as whole and real as when he’d left my bed on that terrible day.
In my mind I saw Chris in the hospital, the covers raised over the cage which protected his surgical site, then dipping lower where his ankle should have been. I saw a clear image of Isaac the day before he died, knocking for Chris and grinning at me as if he had the greatest secret to tell his best friend.
And here was Micah, telling me he had slight burns on his arm? The same man who’d told me in one breath that he loved me and then had stolen my car, driving it into a bridge and killing one boy, leaving another maimed and in a coma.
My fist flew, clenched aggression targeting Micah’s face, his cheekbone, and I heard a satisfying crunch. He staggered back a step, but he didn’t go down, and he didn’t take his hands from his pockets. I was too fast. I hit him again, blood flecking his face, dissipating into the icy air. He moved again, the force of my blows shoving him back.
Still, his hands remained in his pockets, and he was unnervingly quiet, taking my hits as if they were nothing at all. Another punch connected with his lip and split the skin, and this time he grunted in pain. He staggered backward toward the next grave and bent back over the stone marker with the force of that final blow. I stepped closer. I hit him again, connecting with his jaw, but the hit wasn’t hard. There was nothing to it; he didn’t move away.
“You took my car,” I yelled, right in his face.
“You said I could borrow it,” he pleaded.
I raised my hand to hit him again, but he winced, and closed his eyes, and I wanted him to look at me. “Open your damn eyes!”
He did, and he wouldn’t avert his gaze, naked grief in his expression.
“Daniel, please listen.”
“You’ve destroyed Chris’ life.”
“I know.”
“You need to leave Whisper Ridge, and never come back. I don’t want to see your face, I don’t want Chris to ever see you again. You understand?”
“I understand,” his tone low and broken.
“You will never come back here.” I shook him. He was smaller than me, thinner, lighter, and I shook him so hard his head snapped back. “Promise me!”
“I pr—promise,” he said through tears.
I was disgusted by him, hated him, wanted to kill him right there on Isaac’s grave.
“I hope they lock you up and throw away the fucking key!” I was still shouting, and he didn’t move, just stared at me with those pale eyes, red and wet from crying. He wouldn’t stop crying. “Don’t fucking stare at me!”
I shoved him one last time, and then before I could work out what the hell I was still doing there shouting at him, I pivoted and turned my back on him, and on Isaac’s grave, and the entire carnage.
Summer Drifter #2
Chapter One
Quinn
Last Fall
“Alexander.”
“Quinn,” I corrected my father.
His lips thinned at the deliberate slight. I was named for an entire family tree of Alexanders, each one of them more messed up than the one before. I’d taken to using my middle name as a way of distancing myself from painful memories, and from a family I didn’t belong to.
I took a seat on the empty side of the conference table, facing my father, Alexander Dawson Senior, former senator, liar, abuser, and head of Dawson Pharma, plus his lawyer, a conniving asshole called Yan. My mouth was dry, my stomach heaving, my chest tight, but I took a breath and tucked my hair behind my ear. My father’s eyes narrowed at the gesture and that simple reaction helped me to center myself. I’d dyed it the brightest purple I could find, my eyes were smoky with liner, and my lips berry-red, this was me—the me my father hated.
Hate might’ve been a strong word, but it wasn’t as though he loathed me in a way that was fixable, where one day we’d magically make up, hold hands, and skip around declaring our rediscovered connection. He detested me for the fact I wasn’t his biological son, although he’d never admit it and the fact I was gay.
I’d hated him right back for the longest time, despite years of therapy. But if I was going to survive then I had to shut my heart to my toxic family, and I would be done. We’d buried my brother seven days ago, and as soon as the earth fell on him I was finished with the life that had been carefully planned for me. Maybe it was the way my father stood by the grave and showed no sign of emotion, or it could have been that I’d finally gotten through the fog that surround me, but I’d gone through my life in a daze, manipulated by my parents, expectation laid on me so thick I couldn’t breathe.
“You want to tell us what the fuck you want, Alexander?” my father asked, lifting a brow in question. He wanted me to be the silent shareholder, supporting his votes, working the fact that the Dawson family still had the majority share in Dawson Pharma.
Well, they did until thirty minutes ago.
“Will your lawyer be joining us?” Yan peered at the door as if he was expecting someone to enter.
“No.” I didn’t need a lawyer for what I was doing here—hell, the team I’d hired was busy dispersing money right now.
“Is that wise?” the lawyer commented, and then glanced at his boss who rolled his eyes. My father was not a subtle man. “We’re not aware of any issues that need addressing.”
“Yan, you wouldn’t believe the issues I have here, but none of them need a lawyer sitting next to me.” My heart pounded as I fronted them. “I think you should leave.”
My father snorted a laugh and stared at me. “He’s not going anywhere.” I knew my father better than most people did. I’d seen him at his worst, and I knew that tone—it was dripping with contempt. My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, terror lodging in my chest, but I forced myself to breathe through it.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
“I’ve sold every single one of my shares in Dawson Pharma, including the ones I inherited from Max’s estate. Twenty-two percent in total. Gone.”
A muscle twitched by my father’s eye, shock clear as day in his expression, and then his jaw tightened, and he sneered at me.
“The fuck you have,” he snapped.
“Antitrust,” Yan offered immediately.
“No,” I said with calm. “There are no antitrust issues. Williams, Byers, and Green are seeing to that.”
Yan paled at the name of the prestigious firm of antitrust lawyers. Even with his own team, plus the million dollar retainer I know my father paid him, he was small fry compared to them. Yan glanced at my father, and his expression was desperate when he faced me again. “We’re prepared to pay over the offer you accepted—”
“The fuck we are,” my father roared. “Get the hell out of here, Yan.”
“As your representation I—”
“I said leave.”
Yan looked as if he was going to argue again, but then he left me and my father alone. Alexander Dawson Senior never took his eyes off me as he stood, and I stared right back, aware of how far I was from the exit and that there was security I could call if this went south. He stalked around the table to me, but I held up a hand.
He vibrated with anger, this big bear of a man who was half a foot taller than me and fifty pounds heavier—a ticking time bomb of fury.
“What did you do, boy?”
“Sold every single share.”
“You waste of fucking space!” my father snarled, but then his anger gave way to a practised smugness. “You won’t have the time to spend any of that money when I take you for every penny you made.” Threatening anything with money was his go-to step when his entire world revolved around the almighty dollar. Without the shares that myself and Max held, he wouldn’t own the board anymore, and the way he stared at me, I know he was fully aware of that fact. He was trying to regain control, thinking he could work his way around the law and get back the shares. I’d seen him do things like that before, which is why Williams, Byers, and Green were in my corner.
I feigned a calm. “That threat only works when I actually want the money I made, but every single cent is currently being dispersed to charities.”
“Why would you do that to your family?”
“Is that the same family that sent me to a camp? Or the father who hit me so hard I lost consciousness, who broke my arm, tried to kill me when I was eight—“
The time bomb exploded, and he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me up against the wall, my feet leaving the floor. Blackness consumed me, and I saw stars when my head hit the paneling. Now this was the father I knew, the horrific demon inside the urbane businessman who could trick everyone else. This was the man one who abused my brother and I with hands and words since I was old enough to understand pain.
“I will fucking destroy you,” he roared. He tightened his grip and I saw spots in my vision, but my words were nothing more than a whisper. He released me so fast I hit the floor hard and my hands went to my throat, pressing the pain he’d caused, just to ground myself.
“You don’t scare me!” I choked for a breath as tears of pain filled my eyes. “I can… prison… fuck you.”
Maybe prison was enough of a trigger word to break through his hatred and he went straight for verbal abuse as a defense.
“Fucking waste of space. Look at you crying,” he sneered, as I tried to breathe. “You’re as weak as Max was.”
“He was a better person than you will ever be.” I wasn’t going to let this monster know my pain at hearing my brother’s name spat with such venom.
“Fucking queer,” he yelled in my face, but there was fear in him; I could almost smell it.
I stood my ground. Name-calling was the last resort, and I’d heard way worse in my years under his roof. I wasn’t going to lie down and take his shit anymore because it was poison and I’d been slowly dying.
“I have enough on you to put you inside for a very long time. Names, dates, pictures of what you did to me, evidence of the shit you’ve pulled. You come near me, and I will release every single fucked up secret behind Dawson Pharma doors.” I straightened my back.
“You little shit, you can’t—”
“We’re done.” I backed out of the door and stalked past my dad’s bewildered PA, then headed to the rear exit and stepped out into the cool Boston fall. Even though my emotions crashed and burned the tears still didn’t fall.
I caught a flash in my peripheral vision, and winced, thinking the paparazzi had realised I would leave through the back entrance, but it was just the sun glinting off the huge monstrosity that was the head office of Dawson Pharma. My fear of getting photographed, or hurt, was real, and I took random sidewalks to reach my car in the underground parking lot three blocks from the office, before locking myself inside. Too many times the media had tracked me for something that my father had done, and I was finished with it all.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
And the tears fell.
From icy control I couldn’t stop crying, gripping the wheel for support and letting years of pain and grief well up and roll down my face in burning tears. I wanted Max back with every beat of my desperately miserable heart, and I’d held hope for so long, thinking Max would come home, but he hadn’t. My brother was dead and the hope was gone. Everything was gone.
A loud thump hit the window, and a man peered in. He wouldn’t be able to see me through the tinted glass but I hated that he was even near me.
“Fuck you,” I shouted. I didn’t recognize him, and fear knifed through me. I didn’t know all the media vultures by sight, and I was alone in a dimly lit parking area and this could be anyone out to hurt me, because of my name or money.
“I’m here to help you,” the man called, then knocked again. “My name is Connor.”
“Leave me the fuck alone!” I started the engine and checked the mirrors to reverse, hoping to hell he moved out of the way so I didn’t run him over.
He slammed a photo on my windshield, then moved it just as quick. “This is about Max.”
I reacted blindly to the photo and my brother’s name, and with 911 ready on speed dial, I lowered the window a crack. I don’t care what this asshole wanted to say about me, but if he planned on dragging my brother’s name through the mud then I was ready for a fight. Hell, if this stranger wanted an interview then I’d give them one before running them the fuck over.
Connor peered through the crack. Was he armed? He didn’t seem to have a gun pointing at me, or a camera. At this point I didn’t know which was worse. “Alexander, please, I have something I need to show you.”
“Then show me.”
I heard Connor muttering, saw him frown, before he slid the photo through the small gap. It slithered to the floor, and I leaned over to pick it up, seeing writing on the back but ignoring it to check the photo. Part of me expected a blackmail image, but instead it was a simple photo of my big brother, Max. He was maybe six or seven here, standing next to a horse, but I didn’t recognize the shot, and turned it over to see information.
Laurence Lennox, Lennox Ranch, Wyoming. It was dated only two years ago, which didn’t make sense.
“What do you want?” I asked, confusion making me frown.
“Can we please just talk?” Connor asked from outside. He had his forehead against the window and he looked destroyed. “My cousin Natalie was at the commune where your brother died. Please, let me in.” He didn’t seem to be threatening me, in fact I thought he seemed close to tears, and I did the singularly most stupid thing I’d ever done. If he killed me then whatever, it wasn’t as if I cared about anything today. I released the locks, and the dark-haired man slipped inside then shut the door. I locked us in again because I could handle one man, but if he had accomplices…
“Connor Mason, PI,” he introduced himself, and we shook hands. “I don’t know where to start,” he murmured.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, my hands shaky with adrenaline. “How about you give me an executive overview?”
“Your dad hired me to find Max.”
Shock gripped me? This was another one of my dad’s lackeys. I unlocked the car and shoved at him. “Get the fuck out.”
“No—”
I connected to 911, but he reached over and pressed end call. For a second we tussled, and then he slumped back in the seat. “Actually, you know what? Call the cops because I’ve got nothing to hide. But you have.”
“What?” This wasn’t making sense, but I hesitated to pull in the cops when he said I had something to hide. What did he mean?
“There are things I never told your dad. I don’t work for him anymore. I want you to trust me… you have to trust me.”
“I don’t have to trust anyone. What do you want to say?”
He was relieved, but there was some hesitation in him, as if he was going to tell me the absolute worst of news and he didn’t want to. After a pause he exhaled noisily.
“I never told your dad what I found, even though he’d been the one to hire me. I had a bad feeling about him. He said he didn’t want Max to come home, that I had to track Max down and tell him so.” Why didn’t that surprise me? Our father didn’t want Max or me. “I was told in no uncertain terms that he wanted me to make sure Max stayed away. That there was a bonus if no one saw him again.” There was so much innuendo in that simple sentence. “So, what I’m telling you now… I’m trusting you with this because I’ve been watching you. I saw you at the funeral.”
“You were at the funeral?” I hadn’t seen him, but grief had blinded me to everything that day. He ignored me.
“I know what you’ve done today with your holdings in Dawson Pharma. You sold everything today, didn’t you? Removed yourself from the family.”
“How do you even know that?”
Connor shrugged. “I have sources. But I’m trusting you by even showing you the photo. See, that photo isn’t of Max, it’s of a boy called Laurence Lennox.”
“The name on the back.”
“I think he’s your brother’s son.”
I blinked at Connor, struck dumb. “Huh?” was the only coherent response I could muster as anguish fought with a flicker of hope in my chest.
“I have reason to believe Max had a son when he was at the Brothers of Chiron compound, and I think Laurence is that son.”
“Max had a son?” I repeated, and my chest tightened so much that my vision blurred.
“Yes.” Connor nodded.
“I’m an uncle?” Wonder pushed aside distrust and anger. I’d lost hope so long ago when Max had vanished; ten years he’d been gone, and then they’d found his remains, and told us he’d been dead for much of that time. For so long I’d imagined him out there living his life, and all that time he’d been dead. A sob caught in my throat, but the emotion forced to the surface was optimism, and then the tears fell again, and Connor gripped my hand.
I could be an uncle.
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
Winter Cowboy #1
Summer Drifter #2
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