Back to You: A Hudson Family Series- Book 1- Synclair and Reece (8 page)

Nope, nope, nope, I am absolutely not driving 400 miles for a freaking barmaid. I have things to do. I told the shitty little whiner voice in my head. Now was not the time to start tuning in to voices, specifically the warm and fuzzy ones.

“You are because she’s a good person, you have no home, UJ is going home to Ireland, and kicking the shit out of some cocky, overbearing, small town assholes, will make you feel better. Then you can go lie low on some beach in Miami until the bar is rebuilt.”

Sighing, I pulled onto the highway. Not quite ready to give in to my new inner voices, I smirked inwardly and negotiated with myself
, do I get to bring my bat?

I didn’t have to wait too long for an answer before, I, of course, answered myself.

“Of course, the new one you bought from Target is in the duffle bag and you can call and say goodbye to UJ on your way.”

“
Done!” I declared to no one. Shit, I was really losing it. I resolved I would shut up my inner do-gooder by checking on Rachel, assuage my desire for a tension release on her brothers with my baseball bat, and then get some well-earned R&R on a beach with an umbrella and lots of margaritas. My plan laid out I dialed Cami’s number and asked for UJ, ignoring the small part of my brain that was advising me this was a bad idea.

Road trips suck. Four red bulls, three rest stops, and two Taco Bells later I pulled onto the road listed on the envelope. I was still exhausted. The smart thing was to drive back to the town I had just come through, and stop at the Motel 6. Since Rachel was in no danger, I was sure talking to her could wait until I got some sleep. That and the fact that I had driven over eight hours straight through and it was approaching midnight. Like I said that would have been the smart thing.

However, exhaustion apparently was making me stupid. So, here I am at midnight on a dark road that leads up to an enormous two story home that looks like it came straight from an all-American Christmas card, and I really had to pee. From where I was sitting Rachel didn’t have it too bad. A beautiful tree lined drive led up to a four-car garage. I noticed that two Jeep Wranglers, one Mercedes, and a Toyota Tundra were all lined up in the driveway. I wondered if Rachel’s car was parked in the garage and these assholes had her blocked in. I had to give them credit, it was what I would have done. Beyond the drive was a walkway lined with colorful flowers. A front porch, with, of course, a porch swing, seemed welcoming. Parking the car on the road a bit from the house, I grabbed my bat and put my unloaded gun in my back waistline of my jeans. What? I didn’t want to shoot someone and given my irritation, I didn’t want to be tempted.

Finding the darkest part of the yard, I climbed the wooden fence that surrounded the perimeter. I couldn’t just walk up the driveway to the front door, maybe I could just peek inside and see if Rachel was okay. Then I could leave, I reasoned.

No need to get all involved, I concluded. Zipping the blue sweater I had purchased I shivered. Damn, it was cold. The temp gauge in the car had read 35 degrees.
How do people survive in this weather?
I was guessing from the wood burning smell and the fact that all the lights in the house appeared to be on that people lit fireplaces. At least, the lights meant they were up, it should be easy to creep to the front windows, as long as I came from the side of the property. Then I could check on Rachel and get the hell out of here before I froze to death.

Wishing I hadn’t changed out of my combat boots and into the cheap tennis shoes I had purchased during my shopping spree, I grumbled as I felt my shoes slosh in the wet, cold, muddy grass.

As I approached the porch from the left, I heard heated voices. Multiple heated voices, geez I wondered, did the whole frigging clan live here? I guess I should have realized they wouldn’t just block in their sister’s car. Crouching below the window, I tried to ignore the memory of the last time I had eavesdropped on a conversation. Shaking off the image, I peered into the well-lit space.

It was exactly the kind of home the Rachel would come from. Pictures lined the fireplace mantel. A warm, inviting fireplace blazed, reminding me how damn cold I was. It was a well-decorated home, definitely a cozy country décor but not dingy by any standards. It looked pleasant and lived in. It was the kind of home that housed birthday parties and fun family holidays. Sighing, I forced myself not to consider all the things these people had, that I never would, mainly family.

Quit feeling sorry for yourself, I ordered. Things could have been so much worse, I reminded myself.

“The bar is gone, Patrick needs me right now, I need to be there.” Rachel’s screech grabbed my attention. She was standing by the fireplace, dressed in her Hollister jeans and a pink Victoria’s Secret hoodie. I think the girl must own the whole damn store. She was clearly agitated. Her face was flushed and her black hair was strewn around her shoulders like she had been tossing it around.

“No, not happening, you didn’t tell us you were working in a bar Rachel, nor did you mention you were dating some guy named Patrick!” Answered a tall figure that was standing behind the sofa.

Yikes, I thought, as I looked at the man appraisingly.
Hello, stud.
The man was clearly over six feet tall, his green fitted sweater stretched across his chest and muscular arms. Then there were his Levis. Well, those seemed to fit in all the right places, and some of those places looked pretty big. He had Rachel’s dark hair and green eyes but a different shade, his hair in contrast to Rachel’s mussed-up tresses, looked perfectly groomed. His face looked tired but nevertheless handsome in a worn way. Oh, and he looked pissed. Not just mad but PISSED. My guess was, I was right, Rachel hadn’t told them about her life in Vegas. But Jesus, she was a grown woman, a 20-something-year-old woman. Hell, I was running a bar at her age.

“Come on, kiddo.” Someone called from the brown leather sofa, their work boots resting on the coffee table. “Lucas just means, we were surprised.”

Obviously the more diplomatic of the brothers. Even sitting down he looked he would be every bit as tall as the older one called, Lucas. His face was slightly younger, and he looked like he wasn’t much older than Rachel. His hair was a chestnut brown and cut so that it hung slightly in his eyes. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, layered with a red flannel. His forearms looked huge, I could only imagine what the rest of him looked like. His worn jeans and tan work boots told me he was in construction of some kind. The guy cocked his head to the side and gave his sister a charming grin. It was cute that they all shared the same dimples.

Apparently Rachel was immune to her brother’s charm. She glared right back at him, not even blinking. I had never seen Rachel so mad. Why doesn’t she just tell them the owner of the bar is a woman?

“Look, just because you’re happy to never see what’s beyond this town, Dalton, doesn’t mean everyone else is. I’m an adult and don’t need my big brothers making a scene and dragging me home.”

Score one for Rachel, I thought. She appeared to be maintaining her own. So, if these were two of her brothers, where were the other two? I didn’t have to wonder long. Another brother came out of the kitchen. My breath caught in my throat and anger began to build. I knew that face, it was the guy from the night in the bar. Matt, the one that half-heartedly sought to warn me away from his buddy Ridge. So wait? Rachel couldn’t work in a bar but everyone was okay with Matt being a freaking gigolo burglar? Something was so off with this that I didn’t even know where to begin.

Rachel and Lucas began yelling back and forth while Matt and Dalton sat on the sofa actually looking amused.
What the fuck?

My spidey senses told me something was going on that I wasn’t going to like. Cold, tired, hungry and with the beginnings of a migraine I decided to crash the bitch fest.

Standing up, I walked to the front door, without even knocking I opened door, bat in hand.

“For the last time, Patrick is not my flipping boyfriend, Lucas.” Came Rachel’s angry shriek.

Slamming the heavy, wooden door behind me, I answered. “She’s right Patrick is not her boyfriend, she’s her damn boss.”

Four pairs of eyes shifted towards me. Lucas, the older one’s narrowed in suspicion, Matt the gigolo choked on his sandwich, his bright green eyes, so much like Rachel’s, went wide with recognition, and Dalton looked quite amused.

If I wasn’t so confused and annoyed, I might have laughed. I must have looked dreadful. My ponytail had come out while I was crawling over the darn fence, so unruly, shoulder length, thick red curls were hanging all around my face, my shoes were muddy and my feet were going numb from the cold, my blue hoodie probably made me look like a serial killer, oh and I had my bat in my hand.

No one moved, Rachel looked relieved. “Did you say, her boss?”

I smiled, it wasn’t a kind smile, it was the kind of smile you give someone who just figured out they had just been had. “Caught that did ya? Lucas was it?” I sneered. They might all be beautiful people, but so far they all seemed like assholes.

“You’re Patrick?” This came from Dalton. He still had a half-cocked grin. Geez, I bet the girls followed him around like he was a luscious bit of candy.

I wasn’t in the mood for smiling, good-looking men, or even grumpy good-looking men, hell or any men at all. I wanted to go check into a hotel and watch a movie, eat and sleep, in that order.

“Let’s do this quick shall we?” I started, deciding to tie this up and get the hell out of here. “My name is Synclair Patrick, Syn for short. I own the bar ‘Top of the Morning’, with my Uncle, Jack.” I looked around to make sure everyone was still with me. I noticed Rachel was smiling, I had no idea why but I chose to ignore it.

“Gentleman, I have had a shit week. In the last four days, a drug dealing ex-husband of a woman I helped  paid me a visit, burned my bar to the ground, almost with my Uncle Jack in it, which by the way was where I lived.”

“You live in a bar?” Lucas asked astonished.

“No there is an apartment above the bar, both she and Uncle Jack have one or had one before the fire burned them down,” Rachel answered, then her eyes grew wide as saucers. “Wait! An ex-husband, of someone at the women’s shelter? Oh god, did he hurt you?” Rachel moved toward me. I raised a hand to stop her. I didn’t know what her deal was, but I didn’t trust anyone right now.

“Moving on.” I continued, my irritation rising as I replayed my week. “So I have no bar, no home, a pissed off ex-husband, a gigolo tried to fuck me and then rob me.” I glared at Matt, who sheepishly looked away. “Oh and to top it all off, I get freaked out text messages from you.” I pointed to Rachel. Were those tears in her eyes? God Dammit! “Acting like you were being kidnapped, so I have had little to no sleep in four days, your weather out here is freaking freezing, yet here I am making sure that you’re not being tortured to death.” Rachel’s tears flowed freely down her pink cheeks. But I wasn’t about to be swayed no matter how innocent and young she looked at that moment.

“So, Brady bunch, now that I can see, this is just a lot of family bickering, I will take my leave of you. I have done my one decent deed for the year, and if you don’t mind I have to get on with figuring out the basics of my life, little things you have never had to worry about in your Hallmark postcard life…things like a home and a job, since my bar is out of commission for god knows how long, and I am not in the mood to play referee with Greg and Janet Brady over there.” I didn’t realize I was yelling until I stopped my tirade and saw the stares they were all giving me.

I was far too emotional for this, and I was never emotional. Rachel had used me, to what end I didn’t know, I didn’t even care. I just needed to get out of this house with all the happy pictures and warm vibes.

“Wait.” Lucas glanced at his sister. “Why did you let us all believe that Ms. Patrick was a man, more than that, a lover?”

I watched as Rachel’s already flushed face turned pink. Seemingly resigned to her fate, Rachel sat in a recliner near the fireplace. She looked up at me, she looked regretful. “Synclair, maybe you could sit down while I explain?” She pleaded.

I groaned, I didn’t want to sit. I didn’t want her to call me Synclair, but if it hurried this along then, I was game. The house was so warm that instead of freezing, now my sweater was far too hot. But I couldn’t remove it, I wasn’t going to be here more than a few more minutes, besides if I took off my jacket my gun would be exposed and that might lead to a whole new problem.

Once again, not listening to myself, I leaned the bat against the wall and took off my jacket and tied it around my waist, effectively hiding the gun in my pants. Now I just hoped no one noticed the purple marks on my arms. Rachel smirked when she saw my black t-shirt that read ‘Bartenders do it Sober.'

“I’ve been sitting for eight hours, Rachel, I have no idea what is going on but can we just get on with it?” I asked tiredly.

“You’re bruised,” Lucas stated staring at my upper arms.
Thanks, Captain Obvious.
He took a step toward me but I shook my head.

“They’re bruises, they’ll heal, I’m over it, let’s do this Rachel,” I countered. I was not getting into this right now with Mr. Grumpy brother.

She nodded, I watched her chew her bottom lip. “I wanted all my brothers here when I did this, but I guess he got tied up.” She clearly looked uneasy.

Confused I inquired, “Does he need to be here? Really, Rachel, this doesn’t actually involve me, this is between you and your family, and I’m just hanging around because I’m curious.” I gestured toward the door. I had no problems leaving, in fact, the notion was gaining more and more ground every second.