The Return of Brody McBride
Read The Return of Brody McBride Online
Authors: Jennifer Ryan
The Return of Brody McBride
B
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HE
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C
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RIDES
JENNIFER RYAN
For my family, who put up with late dinners, a messy house, and my never-ending work schedule. You support me despite all that, and a lot more, and encourage me every day to achieve my dreams. I hope you see it as inspiration to reach for yours. I love you.
Contents
An Excerpt from
Falling for Owen
An Excerpt from
The Valentine’s Day Disaster
by Lori Wilde
An Excerpt from
Confessions of a Secret Admirer
by Jennifer Ryan, Candis Terry, and Jennifer Seasons
An Excerpt from
Rushing Amy
by Julie Brannagh
An Excerpt from
Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress
by Sara Bennett
B
RODY WOKE WITH
a start, gasped for breath, his hands pressed to his heaving chest where the bullet had slammed into his bulletproof vest months ago, severely bruising his ribs. Used to sleeping in some of the most hostile places in the world, he took in his surroundings with a quick sweep of his gaze. All safe. Adrenaline racing through his veins, he checked his first instinct and stilled his hand, reaching beneath the pillow for his gun. He wished he could shake off the nightmare and memories as quickly as he had sleep.
Alert, he now remembered arriving at the old cabin late last night. Clear Water Ranch. He and Owen should rename the place Mud. Nothing pristine about the blood running through his veins. His father sullied it, along with the McBride name.
Just the thought of being on the ranch again set off a barrage of memories, most of him and Owen running wild. He couldn’t pick out one, or grasp the prevailing feeling that went with them. A mixture of happy and sad times, frightening things better left forgotten but relived in Technicolor nightmares, and anger stored up over years, like a river cutting its path until a deep gorge separated them. Instead of spending the last eight years rebuilding bridges, he’d let the gap grow wider.
His stellar military career came with its own kind of horrors, right up until a roadside bomb took out three of his friends and left him wounded, ending his third tour in Afghanistan and his stint with the Army Rangers. He’d stowed them away with the other bad memories.
Two months of rehab under his belt, he returned home to pull the tattered pieces of his life together and mend them into something of a happy future. Hell, he’d settle for dull and normal.
He’d have exceptional if he won Rain back.
He’d blown it with her and let love slip through his fingers. Back then, he had nothing to offer her. Now, he was a different man, the man she always saw inside of him.
Her trail might be cold, but he’d track her, and before she knew it he’d be hot on her tail. That’s exactly where he planned to stay until he convinced her his days as a selfish prick were over. He wanted to put the past behind him, prove to himself and everyone else he could be a different kind of man than his father was, and find that all-American dream he’d spent years protecting for others. So long as Rain was part of it, he’d find that elusive happiness.
Judging by the sunlight streaming in the windows, early morning greeted him. A soft breeze filtered up to the loft from what could only be the open door downstairs. Papers rustled, then everything went quiet. Company. His brother had come calling. Time to face his past.
C
OFFEE IN HAND,
Owen had the radio cranked up along with the heat as he drove to his law office on autopilot, his mind on the day ahead. He passed the split in the road that led to the old cabin and spotted the new green truck parked out front. Instinctively, he stomped on the brakes and came to a jarring stop, almost losing his coffee along with his good mood. Eyes narrowed, he glared at that truck and the cabin and knew. Brody was home. Unannounced and unwelcome.
Quickly thinking of what he should do, what he could do, he backed up and took the long driveway to the cabin. Not much changed since he’d come out and put the new padlock on the front door to keep teens from partying and the occasional drifter out. The grass was several feet high. His truck bounced and thudded over the deep ruts and potholes. Garbage, beer cans, and bottles littered the yard. The cabin looked neglected and sad against the backdrop of the Colorado mountains.
Rain had turned sad after Brody walked out on her, just as he’d walked out on this place and left it to the wind and time. With nothing and no one to help, neither was living up to their potential.
With that in mind, Owen walked right in the busted front door and stood in the ruin. This wrecked place suited Brody and the life he’d left behind for others to clean up. Namely him.
Setting his coffee on the rickety kitchen table, he sorted through the contents of his brother’s open briefcase.
Shocking. The thought raced through his mind. He had a few friends in the right places, which made it easier to track Brody over the last couple years. Brody found his calling in the military’s elite Ranger unit. He’d been on some dangerous missions and served his country in two consecutive tours in Iraq and three more in Afghanistan. He didn’t know what several of the medals were for, but the Purple Heart made the reports he’d received all too real.
A grunt and moan carried down the stairs. Concerned, he glanced up to where his brother slept restlessly, caught in a nightmare. He didn’t go up, wanting to put the confrontation off as long as possible. Rifling through the other stuff in his brother’s briefcase, he listened to the disturbing noises coming from upstairs, ending with a sudden gasp before all went quiet.
Brody padded down the stairs. Owen set down one of the bottles of pills on the table and caught sight of his brother for the first time in more than eight years. Immediately, he was taken back to summer days when they’d run down the dock, feet bare, shirts off, the sun hot on their backs as they took a flying leap into the lake. Brody’s hair was that same golden blond, his skin tan—and riddled with scars old and new. Taller, broader, and something else. The way he carried himself. A mix of confidence, watchfulness, and ease. His eyes had changed. Gone was the sparkle of mischief always just below the surface. Replaced by a steady alert gaze that took in everything around him in one long sweep. A few more lines bracketed his eyes, but he still had that same strong jaw, the muscle working even now as Brody’s gaze narrowed down at him.
“Sleeping pills, anti-anxiety meds, painkillers.”
“I thought you were a lawyer, not a pharmacist,” Brody snapped, a defensive note to his words.
“I’ve defended enough users to know what these drugs do to people when abused.”
“The sleeping pills are nearly full. The others are necessary, and I take them according to the directions so clearly written on the bottle.”
Brody moved forward looking larger than life. He’d gained a good twenty-five pounds—all muscle. This Brody was lean and mean. The bad blood between them not forgotten, or even pushed to the back burner for their first encounter. Well, Owen could be just as stubborn and ornery. Hell, he’d taught Brody a thing or two about being obstinate over the years. They’d gotten into a shitload of trouble, usually with Owen in the lead. Brody followed willingly. They both had that same wild McBride streak in them.
“How’s the leg?” Owen tossed out, hiding a smile when Brody’s eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw flexing again.
“Checking up on me, big brother? Is that coffee for me?”
“You refused to return my calls. The coffee is mine.”
“I didn’t have anything to say. You went your way. I went mine.”
Owen had to admit, at first he’d needed the distance from their father, Brody, this town, from a past he couldn’t forget or change. The things he’d done and couldn’t change. But after everything was said and done, this place always called to him. Good or bad, sometimes miserable, a few times happy, usually somewhere tenuously in-between, it was always home. He wondered if that’s how Brody felt. Was it the reason he’d finally stopped trying to get himself killed and come home?
“And the leg?”
“Fine,” Brody said through clenched teeth.
“According to these military papers, they honorably discharged you due to medical reasons.”
“I’m no longer fit to send off to be killed. You’ve got to be a hundred percent for that kind of work.”
“Is that all it was? Work?” Owen hoped it was something more. That Brody had finally found a direction in his life. Maybe Brody had stopped listening to the recording in his head of their father telling him he was worthless, stupid, and good for nothing and no one. It took a lot of hard work for Owen to shut that voice up. He hoped Brody had managed the same.
“I needed something to do,” Brody evaded. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“When are you leaving again?”
“Who says I am?”
“You haven’t been back in more than eight years.”
“I’m here now.”
“Which begs the question, why now?”
Until that moment, Brody wanted to tell Owen to go to hell. But that was the old him, the one who didn’t answer to anyone, carried around a chip on his shoulder the size of the big Colorado sky and was belligerent just to be a dick and get a rise out of anyone standing in front of him.
With a heavy sigh, he said, “Hi, Owen. Long time no see. How are you?”
Owen crossed his arms over his chest and warily went along. “Hi, Brody. Long time no see. I’m fine. How are you?”
“Doing better. I just got out of a veteran’s rehab center. The reason for the pills.” He grabbed a bottle and removed a pill from that one and another from a second bottle, popping them into his mouth, downing them without water. “I got caught by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan a few months back. Lost three of my men, another got hit pretty bad by shrapnel. He suffered some burns.”
“You took shrapnel and got burned.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens. I lost three men. Friends. They had wives, kids. People who loved them waiting for them,” he said tightly.
He’d been living his life on the edge, no one to care whether he lived or died. That roadside bomb had been the last straw in a line of near misses for Brody.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Owen conceded.
Brody figured his changing attitude and Owen’s confession were as close to an apology as they’d get. At least, right now.
“I know it. And now, I’m here. Home to stay.”
“To stay,” Owen repeated, amazed and something else. Brody couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Look, Owen, I know you’re pissed. I was when I left, too. It’s been years. The old man is dead and gone. Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”
“You’re my brother. If I had the time, we could take this out into the yard and settle a few old scores.”
