Berch
Authors: V. Vaughn
Berch
Winter Valley Wolves, Volume 3
Violet Vaughn
Published by Violet Vaughn, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 by V. Vaughn
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Croco Designs
Editing by Jodi Henley and Red Adept Publishing
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CHAPTER ONE
P
ulling down my pencil skirt, I smile, because it’s loose enough I don’t have to suck in my belly. My life may be a failure, but at least I’ve managed to lose the fifteen pounds I gained in the five years since I graduated from high school. Just in time for my reunion. Too bad that feat isn’t something I can brag about when people ask how the high-powered finance job I don’t have is going.
Giggling makes me glance across the parking lot of the Elks Club to Jessie Thompson, who is now a Stewart. She never left Winter Valley, and I’m told she’s happily married with three children. Is that Kayla—“Shit!”
My purse lands with a thump, and my phone skitters across asphalt as I land on my hands and knees. I’ve stepped in a pothole and twisted my ankle.
The Prada!
Crap, that pocketbook is worth more than I’ve made all year waiting tables. I scramble over to lift it gently and inspect the crocodile leather. Just a small scratch. Relief washes over me as salty dirt stings my tongue when I lick my finger to smooth out the imperfection. Apparently the insurance policy on rental purses isn’t actually supposed to be used, because for me, that option has been revoked. I glance at my burning palms and find they’re scraped and red but not bleeding. When I roll to sit on my bottom, I find my knee is a different story. Warmth makes me gaze at the blood that gushes out.
“Fabulous.”
I clutch the red Prada to my chest, worried I’ll get blood on it, when black catches my eye, and a man in jeans and a charcoal dress shirt stoops down to pick up my phone.
Berch Lindholm.
My stomach flutters. I’ve always known Berch. Winter Valley is a small town, and we spent our childhood on the same playgrounds and in the same classes. Even when we were in high school and in different social circles, I knew who Berch Lindholm was.
He says, “You’re bleeding.” Berch hands me my phone and pushes his Clark Kent-style glasses up his nose as he says, “I’ve got something in my truck. I’ll be right back.”
My mind flashes back to our graduation night, and my cheeks flush with shame. I’d had too much to drink, gone into the woods to get sick, and then gotten lost. Berch found me on the ground crying and helped me back to my friends.
I brush gravel from my legs and notice my shoe.
No freaking way!
The four-inch stiletto heel of my Louboutin has snapped off. Dollar signs I can’t even afford to imagine flash through my mind. I sigh as I remove it from my foot. It serves me right for wanting to show off the successful life I don’t have.
Berch squats down next to me with a water bottle and take-out napkins. He gazes at me, and I’m swept away by eyes that make me visualize what arctic waters must look like. “Can I wash your knee for you?” he asks.
I nod because I, Raven Lynch, voted most outgoing in our class, am speechless at the hands of the drop-dead gorgeousness Berch has become. His blond hair is long and casually swept to the side. He was a lean boy, and as a man, he’s grown into his strong cheekbones, while his shoulders and chest have broadened. He’s wearing cologne that draws me in, and I inhale while trying to be discreet. Mother of all that’s holy, I want to stick my nose in his neck and lick him.
I flinch when the water hits my knee. He says, “I’m sorry, Raven. But you really want to get this dirt out.”
I find my voice. “I know. Thank you.” I recall how I never thanked him the night he rescued my drunken butt, because I was so embarrassed. And then I left for the summer, making this the first time I’ve seen him since. “Again.”
Berch stops wiping my cut to glance up at me. “It wasn’t a problem then, and it isn’t one now.”
“You look amazing, by the way.”
He chuckles. “Is it the glasses? I’m told chicks dig the nerdy look.”
“Berch!” I chuckle too. He’s holding my leg with one hand while the other is cleaning my knee, and I’m suddenly aware of his grasp. His fingers are almost hot, and the warmth is glorious. “What I mean is, you’ve grown into your looks. I bet you have the girls following you around town these days.”
He stands and extends his hand to help me up. I transfer my Louboutin to the hand with my purse and let him lift me to my feet. He says, “Let me see that.”
“It’s broken.” I clutch the Prada a little tighter and am tempted to pet it, because after I return the designer goods next week, I’ll be cut off forever. “Do you think it can be fixed?”
Berch takes my pump and the heel from my hand to inspect it. “I can repair this for you right now.” He glances at my legs and then up at me with a sly smile. “You really need to wear shoes that make your legs look this good.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Since when did Berch Lindholm start flirting? “Goodness, you certainly did grow up.” But he’s right. They do make my legs look good, and I sigh, because all I have in my car is a pair of sale-rack sneakers from Target I knew I’d want for the drive home when my feet would be aching. “If you have some magic to fix my shoe, I’d be grateful.”
“Right this way.”
I hobble across the parking lot with him to his truck. The metallic green paint of the vehicle is shimmering in the evening sun. The lock beeps, and he moves ahead to open the passenger door. Heat running down my shin makes me glance at my cut to find it’s bleeding again. “Do you have another napkin I can use?”
I brace myself with a hand on the side of his truck to keep my bare foot lifted while he deposits things on the floor of the passenger side. I squeal when Berch grabs me by my hips and lifts me onto the seat. I gaze into his amused face and say, “Just put me in my place, why don’t you?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “I think I will.” He reaches past me to open the glove compartment, and I resist the urge to touch his shoulder to feel the muscles I’m sure are rippling beneath a silky rayon shirt.
I’ve always had a strange attraction to Berch. When we were kids, I tried to be near him whenever I could. He was a quiet introvert who tolerated my presence, and as we got older, I began to leave him alone as I became self-aware. In high school, I ran with the popular crowd and thought I’d cured myself of the urge. But every once in a while, our eyes would connect across the cafeteria or a dance floor, and the familiar tingle of wanting to be with Berch would zing through my veins.
Berch hands me a napkin. “Press that hard against the bleeding, and it should stop.”
For a while I had this fantasy that Berch was secretly in love with me and just waiting until we were old enough to date. But that time came, and he still didn’t make a move. My first date was for the sole purpose of making Berch so jealous that he’d discover we were soul mates. It didn’t work.
The dangerously attractive aroma of epoxy travels to my nose as Berch applies it to the base of my shoe and attaches the heel. He shows it to me for my inspection and says, “This will need to set for about an hour before you can wear it. Do you really have something else?”
His handiwork puts a smile on my face, because you can’t tell the Louboutin was ever broken. “Yes. I have sneakers in my car.” My smile fades as I realize how awful they’re going to look. I turn to slide out of the truck, but Berch places a hand on my shoulder to stop me.
“I’ll go get them.” He holds his hand out for my keys, and I search my purse for them.
The metal jingles when I hand him my key ring. “Thank you. With my grace, I’d probably trip again.”
He smiles at me and leaves to retrieve my shoes. I scan his truck while he’s gone. I’m tempted to search the glove box and center console for female items, but I refrain and keep my hands to myself. I do turn around and glance at what’s behind the seats. I discover a neatly folded wool blanket, a snow brush, and an umbrella.
I face forward quickly when the sound of Berch’s footsteps approaches. I release the pressure on my knee and find the bleeding has stopped. He takes my napkin from my hand and replaces it with my shoes. I say, “Thanks.”
Berch unties my sneaker. I silently gasp when he takes my foot and slips it into the shoe. His hand is warm on my skin, and his touch is gentle. Feeling like Cinderella, I gaze at my prince as he does the laces.
Berch’s silence is unsettling, so I ask, “So what are you up to these days?”
“I teach eighth-grade science.” He steps out of my way as I scoot to the edge of the seat to jump down from the truck.
I land on my feet, and the impact sends a jolt up my legs. I glance up at Berch. At five foot four, I’m minuscule next to a man who is well over six feet tall. “I’ll bet you’re good at it.”
“I like to think so. What are you doing now?”
Oh boy, the question of the night. I left Winter Valley for the big city, sure I was going to change the world. I made a salutatorian speech encouraging our class to do the same. But almost a year of pounding the pavement for a job in investment finance while waiting tables proved otherwise. I’ll be swallowing that bitter pill multiple times tonight. “I’m between jobs and considering a move to Morgan Stanley.” Which is true. I did quit my restaurant job, leaving me unemployed, and sent out a round of resumes, including one to Morgan Stanley.
“How long are in you town?”
“I’m not sure.” I sigh because I don’t like the queasy stomach I have from giving Berch my reunion cover story.
“Maybe you’ll consider getting a job here.”
Berch holds the door to the old wooden building open for me, and I gaze into his eyes to discover he’s serious. My heart skips a beat.
Berch Lindholm wants me to stick around?
Staying here would mean a bank job as a teller and working my way up to the loans department with the hope of making bank president some day. Not exactly living the dream.
“You never know, it depends on what I find.”
I enter the building to the high-pitched voice of my high school friend Amber. “Raven!”
When we finish our embrace, I turn to thank Berch for his help. But he’s gone.
W
inter Valley High is small, and my graduating class was just shy of one hundred, most of whom are here. After I checked in, Amber and I made our way to the raffle table to peruse what had been donated from local businesses.
I say to Amber, “I heard you’re in law school. Is it hard?”
“It’s a lot of studying, but nothing I can’t handle.” She drops a ticket into a small paper bag set out for a bath-and-beauty basket. “What about you? Did you find your dream job yet?”
“No. I’m in between jobs. The idea of coming back here seems kind of depressing.”
“I know what you mean.” Amber glances around at the crowd of people. Excited conversation is buzzing amid laughter. “But it can’t be that bad. Everyone that stays seems happy.”
Kayla sees us and makes her way across the room to say hello. “Oh my God, you guys look fantastic!” She glances down at my feet and frowns. “What’s up with the sneakers? Did you break a toe or something?”
I lift up my knee. “No. Parking lot accident. I broke my Louboutin, and now I have to wear these horrible things I found in my mother’s goodwill bag I forgot to drop off.”
Both girls grimace. Amber says, “Ouch, that’s totally something I’d do.”
She launches into a story about tripping on a busy street, but the words fade, because I’ve spotted Berch. He’s talking to another guy, and I’m hoping he’ll look up and notice me. Kayla’s voice breaks through. “Raven?”
I return to the conversation. “I’m sorry. What?”
Amber turns to gaze in the direction I was staring. “Who are you looking at?” She whips back around with wide eyes. “Oh my, God. Who is that in the black shirt?”
Kayla and I both say, “Berch.”
“Wow,” says Amber.
I say, “He’s who helped me when I fell.” I raise my eyebrows and lower my voice. “He’s grown up rather nicely, hasn’t he?”
Amber speaks as she starts to walk, “Drinks are over that way. I think we need one.” She moves quickly in Berch’s direction.
I grab Kayla’s arm to pull her along as she says, “Well, she hasn’t changed.”
“Let’s run interference.” My tone is a bit harsh, so I add a chuckle. But I’ll be throwing a full-body block if Amber thinks she’s laying a finger on what’s mine.
Whoa. Possessive much, Raven?
I don’t know why I’m surprised by my reaction. I’ve always felt this way about the girls who went after Berch.