Unbridled (6 page)

A knock at the door was the last thing he needed.

“Yes?” he called out, annoyed with himself more than with whoever was knocking at his office door.

The door opened and Jennifer poked her head in. She was the daughter of Henry Avila, the head of landscaping, and a good kid. When not in school, she worked at the front desk to make money for her college tuition. This time her normally bright smile was gone. She frowned and her gaze was full of trepidation.

“What’s the matter?”

“There’s a woman out here asking for Grant.”

The mention of his business partner, friend, and mentor still made his heart clench. It had been two years since Grant’s death. Connor had finally moved past the pain of losing the man who had helped shape him into the person he was. The memory of the day they buried Grant would be with him for a very long time. He hoped whoever the woman was, she hadn’t been close to Grant. Connor didn’t like being the bearer of bad news—he sure as hell didn’t know how to be sympathetic to a stranger’s grief.

“Okay, no problem. I’ll be right there.” Fortunately or not, the interruption had actually cured his semiarousal. He needed to stay focused on work and not on the drunken fish that got away.

He left his hat on the desk and walked out of the office. As he stepped down the hallway, he smiled at the pictures lining the walls. They’d build the guest ranch as a family; each cabin that had gone up was proudly displayed with a group photo of the staff. Grant had done his best to make sure the Finley Ranch was a place filled with love, no matter whose blood ran through your veins.

As Connor entered the great room that served as the lobby, he nearly went back into his office. There stood the woman from the bar with her back to him. He glanced around but there was no one else there. Jennifer pointed at her, then left the room. Jesus, the woman had followed him somehow and thought he was Grant. That was a sticky situation.

“Good morning.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to look at him. This morning she wore a pair of nicely fitted jeans, a deep purple blouse and her hair up in some kind of knot on the top of her head. He was again struck by the depth of her blue eyes, deep and fathomless. This time instead of anger, he saw a deep sadness and confusion.

“I know you.”

He went over and leaned against the check-in desk. “We met at the hotel last night.”

Her cheeks colored slightly. “Ah, yeah, that’s why you seem familiar. I, um, don’t normally even drink, much less get toasted on two drinks in a hotel bar.” She glanced at her feet, which he noted were encased in the same pair of fancy ankle boots that wouldn’t last two seconds outside. “Was it you who brought me to my room?”

Nice to know he was memorable. “Yes, it was me. I was glad to help. Is there something I can help you with today?” Connor sensed she was genuinely distressed about something and wanted to be anyplace but right there. He’d never actually had a stalker before, if that was what she was. Of course the memory of her lips, of those fantastic tits pressed against his chest, made him a bit distracted.

“I’m looking for Grant F-Finley.” She threw back her shoulders as if girding herself for battle, but her voice shook.

Ah, yes, she was looking for Grant. The name snapped him back to reality. “And you are?”

“Oh, sorry; I feel like such a dunce. I’m Alex Finley, Grant’s daughter.” The word
daughter
got stuck in her throat and sounded more like a croak than a word.

It was a word, however, that hit Connor square between the eyes.

Holy fucking shit.

This was Grant’s daughter? The one the attorney couldn’t find? The one Connor hadn’t known existed until after his best friend’s death? The earth shifted just a bit under his feet as he scrambled to figure out what to say to her. After knowing Grant almost eight years, Connor was still shocked he hadn’t known about the existence of the other man’s daughter. Where the hell had she been?

“Is there a problem?” Her brows drew together. “Is he not here?”

“Ma’am, why don’t we sit over here?” He gestured to the sofa and two wing chairs in front of the fireplace. The homey scene did nothing to relieve his shock or stress. What the hell was he supposed to say? Any way he got it out, it was going to sound bad.

She didn’t look too happy about it, but she sat stiffly on the edge of the left-hand chair. Connor sat on the sofa and put his elbows on his knees.

“Let me start by telling you who I am.”

“That’d be helpful.” Her soft murmur told him she had a sarcastic streak he didn’t expect.

“My name is Connor Matthews and I run Finley’s Ranch. Grant Finley was my boss and friend. We built the guest ranch together.” He cleared his throat and tried to think of a way not to look at her, but her gaze was like a damn magnet. “Grant, ah, unfortunately was killed in a car accident two years ago.”

Every smidge of color drained from her face, leaving Alex looking as if someone had thrown flour on her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“They tried to find you after the attorney read the will but couldn’t. Didn’t know where to start, really.”

“I didn’t want to be found. I lived off the grid as a renter. There was nothing for me here.” She narrowed her gaze. “Wait a minute, did you say after he read the will? I’m sorry; I don’t understand what’s going on here.” Her voice was wavering on hysterical. “My father dies and you wait until the fucking will is read to try to find me? It would have been nice to know he’d actually died.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Jesus Christ.”

Grant had obviously screwed up the situation already with his usual grace. “I’m sorry I don’t have the particulars of what happened. We really should speak to his attorney—”

“No, I don’t want to wait for the attorney. Tell me what you know. Please.” Her voice had become almost gritty.

“Look, Miss Finley, I didn’t know Grant had a daughter. He hadn’t mentioned you, but he was kind of private. No one looked for you because we didn’t know you existed, and then when the will was read we didn’t know where to start looking for you. This is awkward as hell since Grant was my friend and I didn’t even know he had a daughter. I mean, maybe Claire knew but—”

“Who the hell is Claire?” Her voice cut through his like a knife.

“Grant’s wife. I guess she’d be your stepmoth—”

Alex stood up and he could see in her eyes that she was going to puke. He pointed at the restroom down the hall and she ran with her hand clamped across her mouth.

Ah, hell.

 

 

Alex knelt in front of the toilet shaking and crying. The coffee sure as hell burned coming back up no matter how good it had been going down. She grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped her eyes and mouth.

Dead. Her father was
dead
.

She couldn’t fathom it. Not even for a second had she expected this, much less a stepmother. God, she could hardly stomach the thought of facing this woman, whoever she was.

Alex had to focus on the fact that there would never be a chance to make peace with her father, to lay to rest the cackling demons she’d had riding her back for ten years.

Her father was dead.

She had no idea how long she sat there trying to absorb the unbelievable news, but it wasn’t getting any easier to accept.

“Miss Finley?” The cowboy’s voice came through the door. How ironic was it that the man she’d met in a bar turned out to be her father’s partner? Likely the man who’d been the son she could never be. The universe damn sure had a twisted sense of humor.

“Yes, I’m here.” She leaned against the wall, pulling up her knees to rest her head on.

“I brought you a cool washcloth.”

Alex didn’t want to like this guy, seriously wanted to hate him, but he was obviously a gentleman, judging by the fact he’d left her intact the night before, and was now trying to be nice to her. He was damn clumsy with his words, though.

“Fine. Come in.”

The door opened only a few inches and a hairy arm poked through with a dark blue washcloth dangling from the hands.

“I’m not naked, Mr. Matthews. I said come in.”

She could almost hear the reluctance in the door as it slowly swung open. The cowboy was obviously uncomfortable with emotions, but she couldn’t deal with his issues right then. She took the cloth from his outstretched hand.

“Thanks.” Alex pressed the cool cloth to her face, surprised by just how cold it was. One thing she missed about Wyoming—just how cool the water got out of the tap. In L.A., it was practically the same room temperature year-round, no matter how long she ran the cold water.

“Look, I know this is a shock.”

Alex managed a strangled snort. “Obviously an understatement.”

“I know you and your dad must have had issues.” Connor leaned against the doorframe, his imposing bulk blocking the view of any passersby.

“You have no idea how hard it was to come here, to work up the courage to face him.” She stopped the sob before it escaped, pushing it back down her throat until she could swallow again. “I never expected him not to be here.”

“He’s here in spirit, in every board in every cabin, in every guest we have stay here.” The man must’ve realized just how little she wanted to hear about her father’s good works. The fact he’d turned her home into a hotel still pissed her off. “Look, Alex—can I call you that?” At her nod, he continued. “Grant didn’t talk much about his past so we had no idea he even had a daughter.”

Alex barely made it to the toilet before bile coated her throat again. She heaved up nothing since there was nothing left inside her. The door shut and she wondered if puke always made the cowboy run; then the washcloth was pressed against the back of her neck. The man had surprised her again.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I seem to find just the right thing to say to make you hurl.”

She half cried, half laughed at him. “You are doing a damn good job at it.”

Connor squatted beside her. “Take your time in here. I’ll wait for you in the office. Turn left and it’s down at the end by the side door.”

Tears slid from her eyes as she realized her mother’s sitting room, where they’d sat and read a thousand books, was Connor’s office. Alex had really never expected any of this, and it was damn hard to accept. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until she had no more tears, and yet she wanted to rail at the heavens, at her father, for not being here.

For Alex there would be no closure, no good-bye, no way to shut the door on her past. It was permanently stuck open, allowing all the bad shit to constantly hit her in the backs of the knees. Her father had abandoned her again.

After a few more minutes, she managed to get herself together, or at least so she wasn’t in pieces on the bathroom floor any longer. She walked on shaking legs down the hallway, avoiding the photos on the walls as she went. At that moment, she couldn’t have looked without tearing something into bits.

She told herself not to be angry, not to take it out on the cowboy. Connor hadn’t known who she was, apparently. Her father had failed to mention to anyone she existed. He’d probably just forgotten.

Her throat got so tight, she could barely breathe. Jesus, this was so fucking hard. As she got to the open office door, Alex took hold of herself. It was time to put on her big-girl panties and face Connor.

 

 

Connor almost jumped out of his skin when Alex came into the room. She hadn’t made a sound, like a sexy cat in socks. Her face was tight with anger and her eyes swollen and red. She didn’t even look around the room, but rather focused on him with that intense stare.

“Please sit.” He gestured to the chairs in front of the desk.

She looked at them for an excruciatingly long moment before she sat. The angle put her gorgeous tits right in his line of sight, and the middle button of her shirt had popped open. He could see a lacy black bra, and his imagination went completely apeshit. Of course, he wanted to slap himself—the woman just found out about her father’s death and he was thinking about fucking her tits.

Alex sat there silently watching him and he tried like hell not to look at her shirt, but his gaze dropped. She glanced down and realized what he was gawking at and buttoned it in a hurry. This time when she looked at him, her gaze had narrowed and the look was sharp enough to cause injury.

Connor had the uncomfortable thought this woman might not be who she said she was. After all, he’d never seen a picture of her, and even if she did have Grant’s cleft chin, that wasn’t proof of her identity.

“Before we go any further, I’m going to have to ask you to show me your identification.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Identification?”

“You could just be a woman from the bar last night or you could be Alex Finley. I don’t know and I sure as hell wouldn’t risk me or anyone on this ranch because I assume you’re telling me the truth.” He didn’t want to sound harsh but he had to make sure he wasn’t being taken for a ride.

“Hm, yeah, I can see that. I could be some crazed bitch who wanted more than whatever it was I got last night.” She opened the cavernous purse on her shoulder and rummaged around, pulling out an enormously fat wallet.

She opened it and fiddled around, looking in various pockets and crevices before she apparently found what she wanted. With a bit of effort, she yanked it out and handed it to him.

Connor looked at the California driver’s license and recognized her picture, although her hair was much shorter in the tiny image. Her name read ALEX KATHERINE FINLEY, and that was definitely the name Grant had put in the will. Temporarily satisfied she wasn’t an imposter, he handed it back to her.

“How did he die?”

Connor blocked out the image of the mangled truck that popped into his mind. “Car accident. There was a bad late-summer storm and he lost control. I was told he died instantly so he didn’t feel anything.”