Brad woke hungry, and as Newman had told him that Buster's café had the best food in town, he washed, dressed, and then decided on a walk.
Cutting into a trail he found along the road, he took his time enjoying the tall Redwoods and the feeling of being alone. He could hear no cars or voices; nothing disturbed the absolute peace. The thud of his feet was his only companion, and Brad thought spending a day hiking may be a plan before he left. In fact, he would make sure to hike to this Buchanan land his father was intent on turning into a resort.
Something was off there. He didn’t believe it was a coincidence, just as he was sure Ethan didn’t. His father wanted revenge against his sons, and this, to his mind, was a way to get it. What worried Brad was that this was only the beginning.
He let his thoughts wander until he reached the end of the trail, and then walked the rest of the way into town by road. The lake shimmered, the breeze was warm on his face, and if he were the type to stop and take a breath, this would be the ideal place to do it.
He passed the old church where his brother had married, and a large piece of grass people were erecting tents on. Brad knew this was where the Night Carnival would be held, because Billy had told him about it.
The Hoot’s front window showed him it was busy, but he saw a table become free as he entered.
“So if your brother is called ‘number five’ and ‘Tex,’ what the hell do we call you?”
Buster was ambling toward him as he approached the counter, wearing a black apron which should have given him a feminine touch, but instead made him appear tougher. Brad wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Number five?”
“Ethan Gelderman number five.”
“Bet he didn't tell you that.”
“Got it out of him one night before he realized what he'd given away.”
Brad laughed.
“You could try Brad.”
“Original, but give it a moment, I'll work something out.”
“While you do, can I eat?”
“Sure, get to it.” Buster waved at the cabinets. “Unless you want to order something, then I'd have to cook it for you.”
“Don't want to put you to any trouble,” Brad drawled.
“You got a lot of your brother in you, I have to say, even if he's not your favorite person.”
Did everyone know he wasn't comfortable around his brother?
“Small town, bud, nothing gets by anyone, and news spreads faster than shit on that big old inter web. Plus, I watched you two yesterday.”
“Right,” Brad said, looking at the menu board. Maybe he’d get Buster to cook him something, just to shut him up.
“You got a middle name, Brad?”
“Jonathan,” Brad said as he moved to the cabinets. The food looked and smelled good and his stomach was telling him he needed to fill it, and soon. He saw a basket of muffins, with a sign that said, Mystery. Reading on, he saw that if he guessed the contents after eating it, he didn’t have to pay.
“Flour, buttermilk, and cinnamon?”
“BJ it is then,” Buster said ignoring him.
“And you said Brad was original.”
“What can I say, it's a gift.”
“What's a gift?”
“Me. I'm pretty much a gift, Willow says it constantly.”
Jake McBride made a snorting noise as he strolled up to the cabinets. Stepping in front of Brad, he pulled a pie out of the warmer and took a large mouthful.
“But seriously, I have a gift for nicknames, everyone says so.”
Seeing as Jake was doing it, Brad elbowed him aside and took out the same pie, and bit into the warm pastry. He made a humming sound as he tasted the filling.
“Who says so?” Jake said around another mouthful. “What nicknames have you come up with?”
“Ethan's.”
“Tex was a fairly easy choice.”
“Number five though, now that was genius.”
Brad was fairly sure he'd never had a conversation like this with anyone, but as his mouth was full, it would be rude to interrupt.
“Oh please. He's Ethan Gelderman number five, no thought whatsoever went into that.”
Brad was matching Jake bite for bite. The pie had a cheesy crust and was filled with chicken and vegetables, and he could honestly say he'd never eaten anything so good before.
“Whatever,” Buster said, apparently not offended that his title of nickname supremo was being challenged. “I've nicknamed Brad BJ, ’cause his middle name is Jonathan.”
Jake clutched his chest, now he'd finished his pie, and staggered backward.
“You, Buster Griffin, are a fucking genius!”
Buster preened, well more a smirk actually, but Brad guessed for him it was close.
“Although, maybe TJ would suit better?”
“I see where you're going with that, bud, and reluctant as I am to agree, I'm thinking Tex junior is a better fit. TJ it is.”
“Does that make me nickname supremo?”
Buster thought about his friend’s words while Brad shook his head at the bizarre conversation and went back to the cabinets and took out a muffin this time. He made another noise as he took a bite. It had a gooey caramel middle and dark chocolate outside.
“No, the title's mine,” Buster said, before ambling back to the kitchen and away from the coffee machine, which told Brad he wasn’t getting any.
“I need to pay you,” Brad said.
“I’ll put it in the book, and we’ll settle up before you leave.”
“Is he serious?” Brad looked at Jake.
“Deadly. We all settle up end of month. It’s how things roll in a small town, TJ. We trust each other.”
“Okay, if you say so.” This place was like something from a time warp, Brad thought.
“Got to go, TJ, work calls.”
“It's Sunday, who works on Sunday?” Brad said, following Jake back out the door.
“I'm a doctor, and much as it would work for me, I can't get these people to only fall sick Monday to Friday.”
“Any chance that nickname won't leave the Hoot?”
“Not a hope in hell, but I like the fact you didn't fight it. Things go much easier round here if you pick your battles. And while we’re talking about battles, your brother is a good man, you should talk to him.”
Jake slapped Brad on the shoulder before heading off up the street, leaving him to wonder what the hell was the deal with this place. Everyone seemed to be in each other’s business, he now had a nickname, and then there was the “settle up later,” business with Buster.
“Weird,” he muttered, heading back down the street for the general store. He needed a few things and he’d start there.
Running his eyes over the timber front of the Roar, he saw the prerequisite notice board, and through the windows, the laden shelves and things hanging from the rafters. Pushing open the door, he entered.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Brad said to the man reading a paper behind the counter. The smell hit him first. Candles, confectionary, and herbs. Stuff was everywhere, the aromas mixing together to create a spicy scent. Ducking under some dried flowers, he walked down the aisles. By the end of the second one, he had his arms loaded with things he hadn’t known he needed.
“Morning.”
He found DJ O'Donnell seated at the rear.
“Morning.”
“Let me get you a basket for all that.”
He watched Declan retrieve a basket and then Brad lowered his purchases into it.
“Those chocolates are special, and after those, try the mint. If you want shorts, they have a few pairs. There's also a menswear a few doors up, but those are dressier.”
“Ah, sure. Do I need shorts then?” Brad looked down at his worn jeans. He wore them pretty much daily, unless he was doing business.
“The temperature's going up today, Brad. You'd be better off if you had a pair.”
“I'm used to jeans.”
“Sure, but you may want to throw yourself in the lake occasionally. Let me show you what Mac's got.”
Brad was determined to win this conversation. He liked jeans, and if he needed shorts, he'd cut up a pair of jeans to get them.
“I'll just cut the legs off these then.”
“Be a shame. Jeans that are worn in are a special thing.”
“What's the deal with you people?” Brad said as he followed DJ O'Donnell, because what the hell else was he supposed to do? He was pretty sure he wasn't dreaming, and that the famous novelist was about to fit him for a pair of shorts.
“Deal?”
“First Buster and Jake give me a nickname, and now I need shorts?”
“Buster likes nicknames, as evidenced by his friends, who all have them. What did he give you?”
Brad just looked at the Irishman.
“I'll hear within the hour anyway.”
“Is there something in the water in this town?”
Declan laughed. “It takes a while to get used to, but once you do, there's no better place.”
The man then turned and headed for a rack.
“My pick is the blue, seeing as you got those eyes.”
The Irish burr was muffled as he dived into the rack.
“Morning.”
“Newman, how you doing?”
“Good, Declan. Nice day for it. Whatever it is you're doing?”
“Looking for some shorts for Brad.”
He must have seen the bemused look on Brad's face, because he smirked.
“TJ.” The man nodded, then took a step back and sized him up.
“Newman,” Brad said, because nothing else came to mind.
“TJ.” Declan sent Brad a small smile. “Tex junior, I like it.”
“Just came from the Hoot,” Newman said.
“You put some food in the book?” Brad could talk like a local too, even if he did think they were odd.
Nodding his head sent Newman’s blond curls all over the place.
“I'm thinking blue, Declan.”
“My thoughts leaned that way, Newman.”
“With pockets, maybe, and longer, to keep the bad boy image he’s got going. Not sure as I'm comfortable seeing a man in short shorts, unless he's exercising,” Newman added.
“Also my thoughts.”
Declan emerged once more with a pair in his hands.
“These should do. You head on in there and try them on, Brad.”
“Ah—”
“Just roll with it, bud.” Newman gave him a wink.
Brad took the shorts, wondering how DJ O'Donnell had known what size he was. Slipping into the curtained room, he kicked off his sneakers and jeans then pulled on the shorts.
“How they working for you?”
“Surprisingly a perfect fit.”
“Out you come then,” Newman said, and Brad heard the humor in his voice now.
Not entirely sure they wouldn't come in if he didn't go out there, Brad opened the curtain.
“Damned near perfect,” the Irishman said. “He’s the exact same size as his brother.”
“Well now, imagine that,” Newman added.
“They got them in gray if you're inclined.”
“I don’t need two pairs, I won’t be here long enough to wear them,” Brad said, deciding enough was enough.
“He's going to keep them on, Mac!” Declan called down the shop.
“I am?”
Declan had once again disappeared into the pile of shorts, leaving Brad standing there, not entirely sure what the hell had just happened. He'd been selecting his own clothes for some time now. Further to that was the fact that Brad rarely let anyone make decisions for him or manipulate him these days.
“He's good,” Newman said, as if reading his thoughts.
“I'm not quite sure how that happened, as I've been dressing myself for years.”
“It's the way he does it. Gentle yet forceful.”
Brad nodded. “It's like being beaten with a foam roller.”
“So, you’re staying around for a bit, Brad, to see what's the deal with the Buchanan place?”
“Maybe.”
“Ethan's flying some of us in. We thought we'd see what's what and make sure nothing’s happening. We don't want these bastards getting a jump on us. So if you're around, we'd be happy for you to join us, especially now you got the shorts for it.”
“Sure, maybe.”
DJ O'Donnell was back, with the gray shorts this time.
“Mac put you on a retainer yet?”
“Working on it, Newman,” the Irishman said.
Brad found himself at the counter soon after with his purchases, which now included a pair of gray shorts.
“I'll bag those jeans for you,” the proprietor said.
“Sure, thanks.”
When he was outside on the doorstep of the general store, he looked skyward.
“What the hell just happened?”
“It's the place, man. People just kind of step into your life. You'll get used to it, and believe me when I say that it's all well-meaning.”
Newman fell in beside him as Brad started walking. He stopped outside a women's clothing store.
“Macy owns this?” Brad saw her name on the sign.
“Yup, you want to come in and help me fix up some shelves for her?”
Looking through the door, he saw Macy serving a customer. She wore her hair pulled back today, and her head was lowered as she concentrated on bagging the customer's purchase.
“I better get back.”
“To what?”
“Stuff,” Brad said, even as his feet followed Newman inside, then stood to one side until the customer had left. Looking around, he noticed the store was full of things, clothes and accessories everywhere.
“Hey, you two.”
“Macy.” Newman kissed her cheek. Brad just nodded, and pushed his hands into the pockets of his new shorts and tried not to stare. She hadn’t met his eyes yet, and he knew she was uncomfortable with him there.
“You want me to fix those shelves today for you?”
She wore a short, tight skirt in red, and another floaty blouse that sat off the shoulders exposing the soft, creamy skin of her upper chest and arms. Strappy red sandals finished the outfit, and he noted the polished red toes. Her nails were small, and he had the ridiculous urge to drop to his knees and touch them.
“I told you I was fine, Newman, so you don't need to worry.”
“About what?” Newman looked puzzled.
“I shouldn't have said anything,” Macy muttered, shooting Brad a look.
“Yes, you should.” Newman was suddenly serious. “It's how this little thing called friendship works.”
He then walked off to inspect a shelving unit.
“What's he talking about?” Brad found himself saying, when what he should be doing was heading out the door.
“It's nothing. I hear you have a new nickname?”
“Do you guys have smoke signals or something?”
“Or something,” she muttered again, returning to the counter. He followed, his eyes doing a survey of the shop.
“Do you actually sell anything in here?”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can't believe you said that.”
“There's stuff everywhere.”
“What the hell do you know about setting up a shop?”
“More than you think, and this is not inviting.” He swept a hand around the room.
Macy found herself following Brad Gelderman around her store for the next few minutes, if only to give him a piece of her mind.
“I'm not taking advice from you, Gelderman. What the hell do you know about women's fashion?”
He was poking about on her racks now.
“Not much, but I know a bit about the right way to lay out a store so it looks appealing.”
Macy snapped her teeth together to stop from growling. Inhaling, she caught the scent of whatever shampoo he'd used this morning. His T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and the shorts showed a long expanse of leg lightly sprinkled with hair. His large feet were clad in sneakers.
“You have a label sticking out the back of your shorts, and for your information, people want to spend time here!”
One big hand reached around the back and pulled hard on the tag. He then stuffed it in his pocket.
“Declan chose them for him,” Newman said.
“He's got a good eye, unlike some,” Macy glared at Brad, who was looking at her scarves.
“How do you know if I have a good eye or not?”
Macy wanted to take a step back as he leaned her way.
“You have that whole biker boy look going on. Scruffy hair, ripped jeans, worn boots and T-shirt. It's hardly a fashion statement,” Macy said, knowing she was lying, because he looked hot as far as she was concerned, but she wasn't letting him know that.
“I wore suits for years, I like this better” was all he said before returning to her shelves.
“I'm sorry, that was rude.”
“Honesty is never rude.”
“I wasn't being honest,” she felt compelled to say.
He turned, just his head, and gave her a slow smile, but didn't say anything else, much to her relief.
“How are people meant to see these tucked away behind the racks of clothes. They should be on display.”
Macy glared at the belts he held in one large hand.
“I've been busy lately, and haven't had time to make changes. Stocks come in and—”
“You only get one shot to hook a prospective purchaser, Macy, and isn't summer your busy season?”
“Always busy here, TJ.”
“You stick to perfecting your pizza sauce,” Brad said to Newman.
“You just need to roll with it. The more you protest, the more they dig their heels in,” Macy told him.
“Roll with what?”
“The locals giving you a nickname.”
“It's a weird kind of parallel universe here, I swear.” He picked up a handful of scarves. “The world as I know it exists beyond the borders of Lake Howling, but once you’re here....”
“Couldn't have worded it better,” Newman said. “I leave often, and step back into that real world.” He was leaning on a shelving unit now, looking relaxed as only Newman could. The man, Macy thought, could look relaxed on a bed of nails. “But then I step back into this life and it's like I'm still thirteen.”
“You being sixty and all, Newman,” Macy joked.
“The point I'm trying to make here, is that we do tend to stand still here.”
“Not over the last few years.”
He nodded at her words. “True, we've had a few intrusions from the outside world.”
“What's happened over the last few years?”
“It would take a week to explain,” Macy said, following him to a set of racks.
“This needs to be better organized, Macy.”
“Okay smartass, what would you do?”
He straightened, and Macy dug her toes into her sandals to stop from taking a step backward. He was close now, and she saw the flare of heat in his eyes as he looked at her.
“You give me some time, and if you don't like it, I'll help you put it back the way it is now.”
Macy shrugged. If he was here, she could look at him, even if it was only for a few more minutes. Sad, pathetic woman that she was, she'd take that time.
He pulled down clothes and threw them on chairs, then moved racks and displays. He enlisted Newman to haul furniture, and then the counter was dragged closer to the door.
“What the hell is he doing?”
Macy, who had stationed herself by the door to intercept customers, smiled at Ethan as he appeared.
“TJ is rearranging my shop with help from Newman. Supposedly, it's not aesthetically pleasing.”
“TJ?”
“Tex junior. Jake came up with it, and Buster is pissed because supposedly he is the nickname supremo.”
“Original.” Ethan grunted, his eyes following his brother. “How the hell would Brad know what was aesthetically pleasing? I didn't even know he knew that word.”
“Damned if I know, and I'll let you know if he has a clue when it's done.”
But Macy could see what Brad was about now, and she had to agree he'd opened her shop up and made it more welcoming. The flow would appeal to a customer stepping in for the first time.
“How do you know what's aesthetically pleasing?”
Brad looked up as Ethan yelled the words at him. She saw the flash of something in the blue eyes before he lowered them and shrugged. His body had tensed with the arrival of his brother.
“Just a hunch.”
This was no hunch, Macy realized. Brad Gelderman knew what he was about.
“Bull.” Ethan moved into the room and grabbed the end of the counter, which Brad had now decided needed to move a few feet to the right.
Brad's shoulders were hunched and he looked guarded.
“I thought you were into property investment with a side of helping people?”
“I have a friend's father who runs a few stores. I invested, but before I did, he made me spend some time in one.”
“What stores?” Newman said.
“What friend?” Ethan added.
Macy could see frustration written all over Ethan’s face. His brother wasn't happy to see him or about sharing any personal information.
“Niall and Leigh.”
Newman whistled.
“Why did you just whistle?” Ethan demanded.
“Niall and Leigh are high-end men's fashion. They have stores in most major cities. Surely you've heard of them, Tex?”
Ethan thought about that for a few seconds.
“Okay, maybe I have heard of them, but what involvement do you have with them?”
“I just told you what.”
“So you do this charity stuff, and are a part-time retailer on the side?”
Macy couldn’t read anything on Brad’s face. He didn't want to talk about this, or Macy guessed, anything personal, and had shut himself off.
“I ride sometimes with one of the Nialls, and he said they were looking for an investor.”
“Was he there when your friend died?”
“Mark,” Brad said. “And no, that day it was just Mark and me.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Macy touched his arm, because losing anyone close was painful.
“It’s okay now.” He shrugged. But it wasn’t, she could see that.
“Me too. Sorry that you had to be there when your friend died, Brad.”
“Sure, thanks.”
Brad had accepted her touch, but not his brother’s.
“You got lots of it?”
“It?” Brad questioned Ethan.
“Money.”
“Some. You?”
“Some.”
“Never use two words when one will do, Macy. Let this conversation be a lesson to you on man talk 101,” Newman stated.
Macy heard her cell phone ring. She didn’t want to answer it, she wanted to stand here and watch this battle of wills that was raging silently between the two Texans, especially Brad. He was trying to keep his distance, and Ethan was trying to break through the walls his brother had erected.
Hurrying through the door that led to the small rear storeroom, she found it in her bag and answered it. After all it could be Billy’s daycare.
“Good morning....” The words trailed off as she heard the deep breathing. Everything inside her went cold as it turned to laughter.
“Like a bit of heavy breathing don't you, Macy. I'm coming for you, wife.”
Two sentences, and suddenly she was back there. Once again the frightened, traumatized woman this man had reduced her to.
“You don't scare me, Brian Delray.” She fought to keep her voice from shaking. He can't hurt you anymore, Macy. Never again. “You’re n-nothing but a pathetic man.”
“Oh you’re scared, wife. You can change your numbers as much as you like, but I have ways of getting to you. I’m coming for you, and then you'll pay for what you did to me, you little bitch!”
Macy's finger shook as she disconnected the call. Dropping the phone to the desk, she then braced her hands on it. She inhaled a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
Her ex-husband was a monster. No other word fitted him better than that one. But he was locked away behind bars, so she didn’t need to panic. No need to feel the pains in her chest, or weakness in her knees. His threats were empty now.
“Macy!”
“Coming.” She forced a smile onto her face and headed back out to the shop.
Damn her ex-husband to hell and back. The very place he'd once put her.
“What do you think?”
The words were from Newman, who was standing with Ethan, while Brad stood a few feet away. Alone, like she had once been, but no more, she reminded herself. She had friends now.
She did a sweep of the shop, seeing but not really, as her head was still in the conversation she'd just had with Brian.
“What's wrong?”
Brad had come to stand in front of her.
“Sorry?”
“Something's upset you.”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I'm fine, and I have to admit the shop looks amazing.”
Ethan and Newman moved closer, flanking Brad, forming a wall of beauty before her. Her battered and bruised heart sighed just a little, which made her feel better. This was here and now, her life with men like this in it. Not him, not that monster.
“Seriously, you guys shouldn't stand like that, all that handsomeness in a line is making my weak heart skip a beat.” Macy fanned her face with her hand and forced out a laugh. No one joined her.
“Cut the bull, Mace, who was on the phone?” Newman's eyes, which usually held a smile, looked cold and flat. “Was it Brian?”
She'd never been able to lie, even small white ones, so a huge, ugly, dark one was well beyond her capabilities. Macy nodded.
“Brian the ex?” Brad asked her.
She nodded again.
“What’d he say?” Ethan barked the question.
“‘I'm coming for you, wife.’ I called him pathetic, and he said he was going to make me pay for that.”
The breath whistled out of Newman's mouth, but Brad and Ethan had never looked more like brothers than right at that moment. Blue eyes fixed and focused on her, jaws clenched.