Tristan (The Kendall Family #1) (22 page)

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Other Randi Everheart Books

THE KENDALL FAMILY SERIES

Beneath the shadow of Sugarloaf Mountain, the Kendalls run a bed-and-breakfast, stables, and winery, but the simple rural life is anything but calm when love—find trouble—finds them.

Volume 1:
Tristan

Volume 2:
Connor
(Spring 2015)

Volume 3:
Riley

Volume 4:
Kris

Volume 5:
Quinn

Volume 6:
Chloe

Connor (Vol. 2) Excerpt

Sophia Turner yelped on hearing something crash downstairs. Her eyes darted to the open bedroom door. Only blackness visible beyond it. In the dim light of her room, the laptop on her thighs bathed her face in soft glow that reflected off the windows. Outside, the mostly flat, rural landscape of Comus, Maryland seemed eerie in dusk’s golden light, the sun dipping below nearby Sugarloaf Mountain. The house was somehow darker than outside, or maybe that was just her imagination. As far as she knew, she was alone in the two-story house. Had someone broken in? Had she locked all the doors? Her ears strained for other sounds but heard nothing.

Her mother might have come home early, but Sophia would’ve heard a car pull up or a door shut. But then again, she’d been engrossed in Facebook updates. One, from a recent ‘friend’ named Jess, had suggested Sophia was in for a special surprise this first day back from college for the summer, but Sophia hardly knew the girl. Why would Jess arrange something for her? She hadn’t talked to the girl since high school and they’d never been friends. Sophia had only accepted the friend request months ago to be nice.

She closed the laptop and glanced around for a weapon, spying a small volleyball trophy. The gun chest was downstairs, an intruder likely between her and it. Biting her lip, she took the statue and quietly padded to the door in her socks. There she paused, caught between wanting to hear nothing and hoping for something to suggest she was being silly. But she heard nothing.

She gingerly stepped into the hall and tiptoed down the stairs, which creaked alarmingly, giving away her position. At the bottom, she saw the front door still closed, the deadbolt turned in the locked position. Still no sound. Down the hall she went, peeking into the kitchen. And there stood the cat, looking nonchalant beside a ceramic dish that lay in three pieces on the linoleum floor.

“Minx!” Sophia scolded, relaxing. She flipped on the light as the cat perked up and pranced over. “I’m not home two hours and you’re already causing trouble.” She scooped up the white Turkish Angora and kissed her pet’s forehead, not in the mood to clean up. Her mother wasn’t supposed to be back from vacation with her new beau for a week, so the mess could be left for now.

Sophia frowned at the thought, for she’d never had a boyfriend, despite trying. She’d found most boys pretty unromantic. They didn’t seem to know that sending her a picture of their cock turned her off. Sometimes she felt like she knew what every local guy’s tool looked like despite having never seen one in person. How had that come to be the staple of modern dating? Whatever happened to asking a girl out? Or chivalry? Or coming to her rescue? Guys sexting her were the ones she increasingly felt in need of rescuing
from
.

That reminded her of Seth, her friendly neighborhood stalker. He’d been a lonely, downtrodden kid in high school, so she’d befriended him only to realize he’d taken that as something more. When he wouldn’t take no for an answer, one thing had led to another and eventually to a restraining order. She hadn’t seen any sign of him in a long time, thankfully, and hadn’t really given him a second thought until now. He’d never done anything too foolish.

She put the cat and trophy on the counter and grabbed a premade pizza from the freezer, then popped it into the microwave. Then she reached into the fridge for a beer. Her sophomore year as a photography major at Syracuse University in New York had just wrapped up and she looked forward to a quiet summer of practicing what she’d learned. Sugarloaf Mountain had inspired her to take up the camera. Now she gazed at it through the back door, rays of the sun setting behind it burning orange like her long, wavy hair.

As she stood sipping the beer and waiting for the microwave, two pieces of the shattered bowl behind her clinked together. She turned with a smile, thinking the cat was pawing at them. Too late, she realized a floorboard had also creaked. The beer fell from her hand, spraying foam across the floor, as two men in black pants, shirts, and ski masks grabbed her while a third, smaller, one raised pepper spray.

“Don’t move!” the latter yelled in a high voice like a boy’s.

“Let go of me!” Sophia screamed, struggling.

One nuzzled her neck from behind. “Never, Sophia. I’ll never let you go, now that I got you!”

She recognized that voice and asked in disbelief, “Seth?”

“That’s right, baby. You came home to me at last.”

“Oh, my God. You can’t be serious!”

“I love you, Sophia.”

“No, you don’t! You don’t even
know
me!”

“Oh, but I’ve been watching you for forever. I know everything about you.”

Trying to get away, she asked, “Then why can’t you tell I want nothing to do with you?”

Sniffing her neck, he asked, “Why don’t you stop fighting it and show me how you feel?”

A rush of adrenaline tore through her. “How’s this, asshole?” She stomped on his foot.

“Ow! Bitch!” He suddenly shoved her into the refrigerator, where she cracked her head on the freezer door handle.

Sophia fell to the floor, the blow rattling her skull and dazing her. She hadn’t felt something like that since she’d fallen as a kid and struck her head. Unaccustomed to the violence, she felt panic surging up. Seth wasn’t kidding about whatever he was doing. This wasn’t the guy she’d known and the uncertainty of how far he’d go made her stomach twist.

“Don’t be so rough, Seth,” the third attacker pleaded. He was taller than all of them by a head. “Ya gonna hurt her.”

“Shut up!” Seth snarled. “And don’t tell me what to do.”

“Where ya gonna do it?” the other one, with the boyish voice, asked. “Her bed?”

“Do what?” Sophia asked faintly, dreading the answer and starting to rise. She tried to grab a shard of the broken bowl but the boyish one kicked them away.

Seth leered at her and undid his belt buckle. “Consummate this love, baby.”

Sophia went cold.

Seeing her expression, the tall guy put a restraining hand on Seth’s arm. “C’mon, man. This ain’t a good idea. I told you.”

Seth jerked his arm free and glared. “Touch me again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

In the distraction, Sophia leapt forward, swinging for Seth, whose eyes widened as he jumped back. Sophia missed, but the taller one was closer now and raised his hands defensively. She slugged him in the nose, a flash of blood splattering both of their shirts. He fell back into Seth. Just then, a shot of pepper spray flew past Sophia from behind and splattered on the wall, narrowly missing the other attackers. She turned, and before the boyish one could improve his aim, Sophia kicked him in the crotch. He crumpled but without the scream she expected. The hallway and freedom beckoned beyond. Sophia scrambled over the boyish one and ran for the front door as the microwave started beeping.

“You cunt!” Seth screamed, coming after her. “Get back here!”

In the foyer, Sophia snatched the car keys from a table and unbolted the door, opened it, and ran through. A glance back showed Seth charging from the kitchen, eyes afire. She sprinted in her socks to her silver Acura RSX, unlocking it with the remote before jumping inside and punching the red ignition button. The car started as Seth came through the front door at a run. Sophia stomped on the gas and spun out in the dirt. Seth changed direction, running for his black Dodge Challenger.

“Oh, my God,” said Sophia, realizing he’d follow. She careened out into the street on the wrong side and flipped on the headlights as she barreled down the road. Behind her, the roar of Seth’s car preceded the sight of it hurtling onto the pavement in her rearview mirror, the lights coming on and sweeping side to side as he righted himself and came on like Death.

* * *

Whether by day or night, Sugarloaf Inn exuded a welcoming atmosphere appropriate for a bed-and-breakfast. Like the other properties owned by the Kendall family—Comus Winery, Sugarloaf Stables, Kendall Motorsports, and their family home—the inn featured a blue roof, front door, and shutters accenting a white facade. As the orange sun neared the horizon, porch lights and an interior glow made the inn stand out in the growing gloom. No other buildings were near the intersection where it stood. From the rear patio, the inn offered unparalleled views of Sugarloaf Mountain, the shadow of which fell over it now.

That’s where Connor and Quinn Kendall sat, each nursing a glass of Sugarloaf Riesling, the shrimp scampi Connor had made long gone. He was the family’s best chef, though that wasn’t the reason he’d taken over the inn. Their mother had successfully run it until dying of cancer, when Connor was fourteen. Of the six siblings, he was the most affected by the loss, which had left Quinn, the eldest, in charge of everything for a while. Once old enough, Connor had taken the inn because he loved the memories of her here. He was now twenty-four and despairing of ever having his own family.

“So when’s it gonna be your turn, little brother?” Quinn asked, as if reading his mind. At six foot six inches and barrel chested, he cut an imposing figure even while leaned back in the wicker chair, one hand stroking a brown goatee. A mane of wavy brown hair reached his neck, adding to the impression of a bear.

“For what?” Connor asked.

“Getting hitched. Who knew Tristan would be first?”

Connor stifled a sigh. He was the second youngest, older than Tristan by a year. They were sometimes taken for twins, both having blond hair, fine cheekbones, and strong chins. But Connor had brown eyes to Tristan’s green, and he kept his hair just long enough for girls to take a handful, not that any had tried in a long time. “It should’ve been me.”

Quinn arched an eyebrow. “With Victoria?” he asked. Tristan and Victoria were about to be married.

“I mean getting married. To whoever. Tristan runs out of here to go sport bike racing for years. Then he shows up, hooks up with his old flame right off, proposes, runs a new business, and now they’re getting married.
And
she’s pregnant.”

Quinn smiled. “I know you’re happy for him, so please try not to sound bitter around them.”

Connor laughed sheepishly. “I know. I’m just venting. The wine helps,” he said, swirling the glass.

“You’ll find her, man.”

Connor shook his head. “Not around here. There’s no one to date. I love Comus, but we’re a million miles from life. And life isn’t coming here. You know it just as well as I do, since you’re no better off. At least you can hook up with girls at the winery. I can’t even hook up with a guest here because they’re never single. Everyone’s at least twenty years older than me anyway.”

“Not into MILFs or cougars?”

Laughing, Connor said, “No. Child-rearing age only, please.”

“How many did you want again?”

“Enough that I mix up their names.”

Connor sighed, shrugging it off. He wished Quinn hadn’t brought it up, but there was no ignoring it. The wedding was supposed to happen here in the big white tent that stood just feet away, the tables and chairs all laid out under it. Weddings happened at the inn all year round. Between that and the couples usually staying here, he made a living off of other people’s love and sometimes felt like his nose was being rubbed in it.

The brothers rose, taking a tray with dishes and silverware through the patio door and down the hall.

“When are the first guests checking in?” Quinn asked.

“End of the week. I’m glad the renovations are done. I want my life back.”

“I thought we just established you don’t have one?”

Connor gave him a playful punch in the arm as they entered the foyer. And there he stopped, for a young woman stood on the hardwood floor, glancing over one shoulder at the front door and then back at him. A tumble of disheveled, orange hair hung over one shoulder of a white, collared, button-up shirt that was haphazardly tucked into skin tight, black shorts with no pockets. Her drop-dead legs, the little white socks accentuating her calves, made Connor stare.

“Oh,” Connor began, trying to ignore his arousal. “Hi. I’m sorry. We were just out on the patio. Can I help you?” With a wink, Quinn took the tray from him and disappeared into the kitchen.

The girl nodded, hesitant green eyes darting from Connor’s masculine Adam’s apple to his broad shoulders, slender waist, and the muscled thighs peeking out from his corduroy shorts. He was barefoot and could’ve been a foot model. Something about him seemed wholesome and yet rugged. She had a sudden urge to jump into his arms and bury her face in his tanned neck.

“Um,” she began, “yes, is there a, uh, room available?”