Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) Read online

  “She shouldn’t be in here, Dad,” the boy said, his excitement vanishing. “If Mom sees her, she’s gonna freak her shit. And she’ll be pissed as hell at me, too.”

  Hope gasped at his use of bad words.

  Looking back at her, he gestured nervously toward the door, his wide eyes telling her to leave. Eyes that were blue like the ocean where she and her mom once built a sandcastle. Her eyes were blue, too.

  She jumped when a sudden, terrible screech sounded from the doorway, surprising her, and she scrambled out of the oversized chair. The pretty blonde woman, the mean lady her mom cleaned and cared for, stared at her with a scary face.

  “You! You don’t belong here, you snot nosed little brat. You’re a stain on this family, along with your whore of a mother,” she sneered, before confronting Marshall. “How dare you bring her into my house. Has this been happening all along? Sneaking her in behind my back? How many more of your unwanted spawn are going to show up and sully my home?” Before he could answer, she looked toward the boy and lifted her brow, sniffing in disgust. “And you’re going to turn out just like him, I’m afraid. A handsome charmer, a serial cheater, and a practiced liar all wrapped into one. Thinking only with your swinging dick.”

  The boy adamantly shook his head in denial and she put a hand on her chest, laughing shrilly before dabbing her eyes and straightening the strand of pearls around her neck. “Well, now. That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? I bet I’ll be wiping the tears of many a heartsick debutante when you break your promises, too.” When the woman looked back at Hope, she shrank against the chair. “Don’t be stupid and saddle yourself with one of those, though. They’re not as easy to get rid of as you think. Such an unnecessary nuisance.”

  She pointed to the door with her long fingernail, glints of light reflecting off the pretty bracelet on her wrist. “Get out of my sight, little girl. And don’t you ever walk back in this house again. You are not one of us and you never will be.”

  Hope ran then, past the boy who put out his arms to catch her when she stumbled on the fringed edge of the oriental rug. Past the horrible woman calling her a no good spic bastard. And past the man who sat silently on the other side of the desk, still holding the one dollar bill.

  That was the day Hope learned that Marshall was her father. That her daddy had a wife that wasn’t her mother. And it wasn’t long after that day, only a year later in fact, that neither she, nor the boy with the same blue eyes, had a mother at all.

  Control and money went hand in hand. Which was why accepting the college fund had been a bitter pill to swallow, the shame still burning a hole in her gut when she recalled the smug look on Marshall’s face as she took it. Rosa’s words—the one’s she’d repeatedly said to Hope as she grew from a skirt wearing tomboy into an olive skinned, blue-eyed beauty—ringing in her mind.

  Pretty ain’t forever, Hope Elizabeth, but smart is. You best believe it before you turn out like your dearly departed madre, God rest her troubled soul.

  It would be a cold day in Hell before she turned out like her mother.

  And since the odds were about the same that she’d go to her family for money, that meant she lived—and ate—off her measly salary working her tail off in the Vistancia’s catering department. God knew, she damn sure wasn’t going to live at Coleson Creek ever again. That would be tantamount to selling her soul. Much like her half brother had, she’d fled the sprawling Spanish Colonial mansion sitting atop the hill above the family winery as quickly as her feet would let her. Leaving Rosa behind had been Hope’s only regret as she’d packed up and left within a week of receiving her high school diploma. The plump, gray-haired housekeeper—who had to be sixty, if she was a day—had been her only caretaker after her mother died. At least, aside from Marshall. Sure, the house and surrounding vineyards were only forty miles east of downtown San Diego. Hardly a significant separation. But the distance had proven far enough for Hope’s freedom.

  Nothing and nobody could make her go back.

  Not a severe vitamin deficiency from the lack of nutrients in freeze dried noodles. Not the frightening texts she’d been receiving for the last month, warning her that she was being watched and chilling her to the core. Not the fact that she may live out the rest of her natural life alone and lonely, unable to enjoy a man who wore a pair of suit pants like he was born to.

  And certainly not Helen, who held Hope’s livelihood in her beefy man hands.

  CHAPTER TWO

  She was the only thing making this whole goddamn scene worth sweating through. The brunette with the bright blue eyes and shiny pink lips.

  And girl was an apt description in this case, because he guessed her age to be significantly lower than his own thirty-three years. A hard thirty-three, at that. Oh, she was legal based on her champagne pouring duties, assigned by a ballbusting hag who took pleasure in cracking the whip, old school clipboard and ball point pen in hand. But he’d be shocked as shit if the object of his attention wasn’t more than a full decade younger than him.

  Taking a long pull off his cold bottle of beer, Beckett Smith mentally corrected himself. It wasn’t just the girl making this long day tolerable. The unlimited amount of icy India pale ale’s also helped. In his experience, they always did.

  Tugging lightly at the restricting collar of his rarely worn dress shirt, Beck watched his boss and mentor with mixed emotions. Sam Gleeson had just married the love of his life. Tied himself spiritually and legally to a woman who loved him like he was the second coming of Christ. And apparently, he loved her back. Popping the top off another IPA, he watched the couple huddle in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, swaying more than anything, as the setting sun and a shit ton of lit candles cast an orange glow on the white lace of his bride’s body hugging dress. The beaming smile on Ali’s face was the picture of pure happiness and Sammy’s return grin was the same, with a bit of devilish intent added in.

  Love and sex and loyalty? For life?

  Lucky fucking bastard, Beck thought, with a silent snort. But if anyone deserved it, Sam did. The former Army Ranger had spent his military career as a sniper, saving countless innocent people by taking the lives of those who sought to harm, not to mention the numerous servicemen and women he laid cover for, his resolute skill with a rifle aiding in their ability to fight another day. Beck had been one of those guys. And now Sam, along with his business partner Asher, who was former Delta Force and all around beast, owned Scorpio Securities, Inc. Providing job security for retired special forces like himself, Mike Mendoza, Grady Foster, and Nolan Ellis, Sam and Ash also provided the glue holding their brotherhood—and Beck’s tenuous sanity—together. The company handled all things security related, from the simple assignment of installing state of the art, impenetrable security systems and guarding influential people, to providing domestic and foreign defense training, strategy consultations, and wide reaching hands on support of just about any kind, including the ability to provide special ops trained teams for worldwide action. Equipped to handle any task from small scale local assignments to major offshore deployments, Scorpio could facilitate the operations necessary to secure people, places and things.

  It sounded bad ass because it was, with Sam heading the domestic jobs and Ash, who was a natural born leader but preferred the life of a loner, taking charge of the foreign assignments.

  Beck had the utmost respect for his bosses and even though Nolan was his closest buddy, Ash had been there for him on more than one occasion when the memories, and therefore the booze, had taken hold. He owed Ash. More than he could ever repay, despite the healthy bank balances in his numerous accounts, but damned if he wasn’t going to try. Which was why he’d poured several hundred dollars worth of top shelf liquor down the kitchen sink with a biting sense of fear more keen than he’d ever felt running life and death missions for Uncle Sam.

  White-knuckling the bottles, he’d drained so many, it was obvious to any onlooker that the situation had gotten grave. The expression
on Ash’s face as he’d watched Beck do it was fucking grave, too. And in the few months since, he’d managed to steer clear of the hard stuff, smart enough to know a suicide mission when he saw one.

  The dark craving for something beyond a few beers still lurked, though, a more formidable opponent than any terrorist Beck had ever encountered.

  Ash and Sam were dyed in the wool Army, as were Mike and Grady, but Beck and Nolan didn’t hold it against them. Not every man had what it took to be a SEAL, they taunted regularly, holding true to their beloved Navy. But branch allegiance aside, they had all been in the same boat, experiencing the wonder and horror that was war. Spending years seeing and doing things they could never speak of. Not with their soulmate should they be lucky enough to have one, and not with their shrink should they be unlucky enough to need one. And they each had their own way of dealing with it. Of forgiving themselves so they could move on, believing they actually deserved the good things in life. Like love and sex and loyalty.

  It was a process, the self help books all said. You had to work at it, because bouncing back didn’t happen automatically. The human mind wasn’t conditioned that way. The healing of wounds, be them visible or not, took time. For some, it might take mere weeks for a semblance of peace and normality to return. For others, it could take months. Months, that turned into years, that turned into a fucking lifetime. Beck wasn’t one of the fortunate former, and since he’d been out of the service for nearly two years, he’d begun to wonder if the weight would ever lift. If he was destined to be one of the tortured lifer’s.

  “That’s supposed to be my girl right there, Sammy,” Grady chided, motioning toward the couple as he lounged in the chair next to Beck. A dimpled smile split his face, attracting young and old women alike, and he held up a hand, his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “I was this close. Now look at you two, all decked out like you’re ready for the cover of a magazine.”

  Everyone knew that wasn’t exactly true. Grady had befriended Ali when she’d purchased the beach house next to Sam’s, hiring Scorpio Securities to update her alarm system. When her violent past had caught up to her, Sam played the dashing hero, effortlessly doing what he did best. In the end, he’d won the girl next door, and Grady, who was Sam’s right hand, was simply razzing the boss man. It was hard not to like a guy like Grady. The former Green Beret was dipped in good luck and everything he touched turned to gold. Constantly optimistic regardless of mucking the same bullshit as the rest of them during his time, the man was both fun to be around and irritating as all hell.

  Sam winked in response to Grady’s comment, hugging his lady tighter. “Just a typical day for the Gleeson’s, Foster.”

  Beck had no doubt that was the case. And if he didn’t know himself better, he might mistake one of those emotions churning heavily in his gut as jealousy. Ignoring the disturbing thought, his gaze sought out his dark haired minx again, aware of her exact location at any given moment. Watching her work the reception like she owned the place, scurrying about to ensure the needs of each guest were fulfilled, he was mesmerized by her bubbly energy and lithe body. She rarely let the wide smile fall from her face or the saucy swing of her hips slow, and in return, his eyes weren’t the only ones tracking her.

  She was a smart one, too, because she’d deliberately avoided him, sending another server to work their table as the evening stretched on.

  “Well, if it isn’t the black sheep, come to crash the party,” Mendoza said, carefully gripping his tumbler of watered down whiskey with one hand while his sleeping son lay cradled against his chest, the toddler out like a light in his father’s arms.

  They all looked toward the entrance from the guest parking lot as Ash finally made his appearance, late by several hours, his hand guiding a young woman wearing an inappropriately short skirt in their direction.

  Sam spotted him, as well, leaving Ali to dance with Mike’s wife, Caroline, and the two other young Mendoza children, all clapping and singing along to an annoyingly catchy song called Happy. Meeting Ash halfway, the two men shook hands, then embraced, their bond unbroken even though one had missed the most important day of the other’s life. There was good reason, though. Scorpio was no nine to five, Monday through Friday kind of job. The contracts they accepted didn’t always come with a predetermined schedule and as owners, it was Sam and Ash who stood holding the bag.

  Beck grabbed two new bottles of beer, handing one to Ash as the close knit group of six men settled around the head table. The bubble-headed blonde gushed about her love of fuzzy champagne—dragging the word love into two long, singing syllables—before beelining it toward the free Cristal.

  Ash let out a clear sigh of relief. “If you have to ask, then you’re too damn innocent to know the honest answer,” he said, to the group as a whole. Meaning she was a booty call and nothing more.

  That was Ash’s style. Beck had seen him with very few women over the last two years, but certainly never the same one twice. They had that in common, too.

  Sam shook his head, chuckling. “Sooner or later, that shit’s gonna get old, my friend.”

  Beck heard Ash mutter, “It already is,” under his breath, just as Mendoza spoke.

  “Oh, he’s right,” Mike said wryly, agreeing with Sam. “Before I got married, I had no idea how glorious constant companionship could be. And when I say constant, I mean every single second of every single day. I also never knew that I needed to work on my table manners and my enunciation skills because apparently, they’re poor at best. Or that folding a bath towel incorrectly could lead to a lecture on proper laundry procedures and ruin a perfectly good Saturday morning.”

  “Dude, a trifold is the only way to go,” Grady said, as if it were common knowledge and Mike was just an idiot.

  “Yeah, you fold the towel in half, then half again.” Nolan said righteously, mimicking the process with his hands. “Then a third of the way over, with the other on top of that. Like a burrito. Any other way is just wrong.” Looking at Beck with genuine concern, he added, “Who doesn’t do it that way?”

  Thankfully Sam’s sister interrupted their thought provoking conversation before they could move on to fabric softener talk, her echoing voice carrying over the music.

  “Ash? Hey, Ash? You hoo...” Donna’s call for the big man’s attention was unmistakably flirty, her hand waving high in the air as she quickly traversed the lawn. “I’m so glad you could make it. I was beginning to worry. Listen, I’ve got some heavy boxes in my bedroom that I’d like stored in the attic. Are you interested in helping me out? Maybe next weekend, perhaps?”

  Donna Gleeson Decker was a successful Realtor in the greater San Diego area, wedding coordinator extraordinaire for Sam and Ali, and from what Beck could tell in his limited interaction with her, a sincerely nice woman.

  She also had a mad crush on her brother’s business partner.

  Beck grinned at the sudden look of panic crossing Ash’s face, glad to know there was one thing in this world the man feared. Wisely ignoring the suggestive expressions the guys were discreetly tossing his way, Ash looked to Sam for help as Donna closed in. All he got was a smile and a shrug.

  Stiffly returning the woman’s enthusiastic hug with as little touching as possible, no matter how much rubbing and squeezing she was doing, Ash nodded politely. “I can send one of the guys over next weekend. Tomorrow, if you need it done right away.” He lobbed a smirk in their direction, all too happy to throw them under the MILF bus.

  “Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart, but no. Don’t go to all that trouble. Whenever you have an evening free will work just fine. I’ve got a fabulous new recipe for braised beef short ribs. It has the most amazing bourbon sauce,” she paused, sizing him up, “and I’d be happy to serve you.”

  Eyes widening at her brash innuendo, Ash nodded mutely, and with a lively squeal of glee, Donna clapped her hands once and rushed off.

  “Service you is more like it.” Nolan scoffed with a wink, before ducking his head at Sam�
�s stricken look.

  “You need a rape whistle around that one, Ash,” Grady said, getting his two cents in. “Or should I call you sweetheart? I’m mean, holy shit, she couldn’t be more wrong when it comes to your personality. Spiking your food with booze is a good move, though. Loosen both you and your pants up a bit.” He squinted thoughtfully, placing the hand precariously holding a bottle of beer over his broad chest. “Now if it were me, I’d be there with bells on. I’ve never been able to say no to a quality home cooked meal, no matter how severe the threat to my virtue.”

  Feeling the need to defend his sister, Sam vacillated. “It might be worth the risk, man. She’s a really good cook.”

  “Sisters are off limits,” Ash said, playing his trump card. “Those are the rules. Unless a guy has prior written consent from his buddy and approval by said sister, then it can’t happen.” He made a rapid slashing motion across his throat with his free hand. “Out of the question.”

  Chugging half the bottle of beer Beck had handed to him, his eyes scanned the crowd and he added, “That’s more woman than I can handle, anyway.”

  More ribbing occurred, with several crude comments about Donna’s meat handling skills and Ash’s ability to outrun her in a foot race, before a horrified Sam returned to his beaming bride’s side. Mike joined Caroline on the dance floor, as well, skillfully twirling her around with one kid still asleep in his arms and two others holding onto his legs. Despite his earlier comments about the challenges of marriage, their love and commitment was obvious, along with a familiarity that spoke of years together.

  Beck silently assessed the two couples, wondering how they did it. And how the hell they made it look so damn easy.