Falling for Owen Read online

  Falling for Owen

  BOOK TWO: THE MCBRIDES

  JENNIFER RYAN

  Contents

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Jennifer Ryan

  An Excerpt from The Return of Brody McBride by Jennifer Ryan

  An Excerpt from The Cupcake Diaries: Sprinkled with Kisses by Darlene Panzera

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  * * *

  DALE HID BETWEEN two buildings, watching his wife and her cocky lawyer walk down the steps from his office. One of the upstairs rooms in the converted two-story home probably had a freshly rumpled bed. No way the guy got away with stealing his wife, convincing her to divorce him, and sleeping with her right under his nose.

  Not his fault she pushed him too far. She knew better than to cross the line, especially when he was drunk and not in control. They’d done this kind of thing often enough.

  He’d left her pissed off and knocked a few back at what used to be Roxy’s bar. The McBrides owned it now. He’d driven home half in the bag and discovered a bunch of pigs in his yard, red and blue lights flashing. Maybe he’d had a few too many and said things he shouldn’t have when the cops approached him. Definitely shouldn’t have hit the cop and gone for his gun in some mad dash to get to his wife and make her take back all the lies spilling from her cunning lips.

  Still, he’d gone to jail and the no-good lawyer across the street took advantage of his wife, convincing Shannon to press assault charges and file for divorce. While he sat rotting in a cell for more than a year, that man took what belonged to him. Well, Shannon would come back. She always did.

  And he’d make the lawyer pay.

  Chapter Two

  * * *

  CLAIRE WOKE OUT of a sound sleep with a gasp and held her breath, trying to figure out what startled her. She listened to the quiet night. Nothing but crickets and the breeze rustling the trees outside. A twig snapped on the ground below her window. Her heart hammered faster and she sucked in a breath, trying not to panic. Living in the country lent itself to overactive imaginings about things that go bump in the dark night. The noise could be anything from a stray dog or cat to a raccoon on a midnight raid of her garbage cans—even an opossum looking for a little action.

  Settled back into her pillow and the thick blankets, she closed her eyes, but opened them wide when something big brushed against the side of the house. Freaked out, she slipped out of bed and went to the window. She pulled the curtain back with one finger and peeked through the crack, scanning the moonlit yard below for wayward critters. Not so easy to see with the quarter moon, but she watched the shadows for anything suspicious. Nothing moved.

  Not satisfied, and certainly not able to sleep without a more thorough investigation, she padded down the scarred wood stairs to the living room. She skirted packing boxes and the sofa and went to the window overlooking the front yard. Nothing moved. Still not satisfied, she walked to the dining room, opened the blinds, and stared out into the cold night. Something banged one flower pot into another on the back patio, drawing her away from the dining room, through the kitchen, and to the counter. She grabbed the phone off the charger, went around the island, and skimmed along the breakfast bar to the sliding glass door. She peeked out, hiding most of her body by the wall and ducking her head out to see if someone was trying to break into her house. Like she thought, the small pot filled with marigolds had been knocked over and broken against the pot of geraniums beside it. Upset her pretty pots and flowers were ruined, she stepped out from the wall and stood in the center of the glass door to get a better look.

  With her gaze cast down on the pots, she didn’t see the man step out from the other side of the patio until his shadow fell over her. His eyes went as wide as hers.

  “You’re not him,” he said, stumbling back, knocking over a larger potted pink miniature rose bush and falling on his ass, breaking the pot and the bush with his legs. She hoped he got stuck a dozen times, but the tiny thorns probably wouldn’t go through his dirt-smudged jeans.

  In a rage, she opened the door, but held tight to the handle so she could close it again if he came too close. She yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’ll get him for this and for sleeping with my wife,” the guy slurred. Drunk and ranting, he gained his feet but stumbled again. “Where is he?” The man turned every which way, looking past her and into her dark house.

  “Who?”

  “Your lying, cheating, no-good husband.”

  “How the hell should I know. I haven’t seen or heard from him in six months.”

  “Liar. I saw him drive this way tonight after he fucked my wife at his office and filled her head with more bullshit lies.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry if my ex is messing with your wife. I left him almost two years ago for cheating on me. Believe me, I know how you feel, but he doesn’t live here.”

  “You’re lying. He drove his truck this way and stopped just outside.”

  “He doesn’t drive a truck.”

  “Stop lying, bitch.”

  “I’m not. You have the wrong person.”

  “You tell that no-good McBride he better stop seeing my wife. If he thinks a bunch of papers will ever set her free of me, he don’t know what I’m capable of, what we have. He’ll be one sorry son of a bitch. She’s mine. I keep what’s mine.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No. You don’t understand,” he said almost like a whining child. “You tell him, or I’ll make him pay with what’s his.” He pointed an ominous finger at her. “You tell him if he doesn’t leave my wife alone and let her come back to me like she wants, I’m going to hurt you before I go after him.”

  Pissed off he’d just threatened her life for no good reason, she fumed. “Listen mister, I don’t know the man you’re talking about. He doesn’t live here.”

  “Bullshit. Don’t lie to me, bitch.” He grabbed one of her patio chairs and threw it at the sliding glass door. She dashed sideways along the patio and the house wall, narrowly avoiding getting hit. The glass door shattered into a million tiny bits of glass beside her.

  “That’s it. I’m calling the cops.” She dialed 911.

  He ran to her and knocked the phone out of her hand into a pile of dirt and torn marigold roots.

  “Help me!” She hoped the call went through and someone heard her.

&nb
sp; The man pushed past her, knocking her down. She cut her bare foot on a broken shard of pottery. The man disappeared around the corner of the house. A car engine started out front. She ran the other way, down the shorter side to cut him off and, hopefully, get his license plate number to give to the cops. She ran for the driveway, but he pulled out of the trees to her left. The engine revved, and he clipped her on the side, sending her crashing to the pavement, scraping her knee and elbow before she twisted and cracked the back of her head on the driveway. Stars burst on the inside of her eyelids. She lifted her head and opened her eyes, only to see his red haloed taillights fade and disappear around the corner and onto the main road.

  Bleary eyed and dizzy, she tried to plant her hands on the ground and raise herself up. She fell flat again. The world spun and shadows swam, making her close her eyes, only to open them and see nothing but blurry shapes.

  Her eyes closed, her face hit the cement, and everything went black.

  CLAIRE WOKE TO chaos. Two men hovered over her. She threw up her hands to push them away, but they grabbed hold and pushed her arms to her sides.

  “You’re okay, Miss Walsh. We’re the paramedics. The police are here.”

  “How did you guys get here?”

  “The 911 dispatcher got your address from your phone number. She heard you call out for help,” someone out of her line of sight explained.

  She stopped struggling and tried to concentrate on what they said. She didn’t know how she got on her back. She didn’t care. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed for the pounding in her head to end.

  Right guy pressed a gauze pad to the back of her head. Left guy took her blood pressure. A cop came into her line of sight at her feet.

  “Miss Walsh, do you know who did this to you?”

  “No. I heard something outside and came down to investigate.” That’s when she remembered the skimpy T-shirt that only hit mid-thigh, but was rucked up to her hips. She tried to pull it down, but left guy held her arm, checking the blooming bruise on her shoulder where she hit the cement. He’d cut her shirt to investigate.

  “What did you see, Miss Walsh?”

  “Please call me Claire. Uh, nothing at first. I heard something knock over the pots on the patio. I thought maybe an opossum or raccoon strolled over for a midnight snack. I checked out the glass door and someone came out of the shadows and scared me half to death. My hip and feet hurt.”

  “You’ve got a nasty bruise on your hip and several nicks and cuts on your feet. Two, maybe three need stitches,” right man said, dabbing antiseptic on the cut on her jaw, making her hiss in pain.

  “Miss Walsh, Claire, did you see the man who did this to you?” the officer asked.

  “It was dark, but he was about four inches taller than me with dark hair. He wore jeans and a dark flannel shirt. Drunk, maybe on something. He kept talking about his wife sleeping with some guy named McBride.”

  “Well, I’m Sheriff McBride, and I can tell you it wasn’t me, so which infamous McBride? Brody or Owen?” another officer asked, walking out of her house and making his way down the path from the porch.

  Infamous? There had to be a story there.

  “You’ve got me. I don’t know either of them, though we share the mail slots out on the road. Our mail gets mixed up because the addresses are so close. He said something about McBride helping his wife leave him.”

  “Got to be Owen. He’s a lawyer now. I’ll call him, see if he can give us a name.”

  Now? As in he’d been on the other side of the law at one time? Interesting.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  THE POUNDING ON the door frightened Shannon, bringing her off the couch, her hands pressed to her thrashing heart. She stared wide eyed and held her breath, resigning herself to the inevitable, knowing who was on the other side.

  “Open up, Shannon. Damnit, woman, let me in.”

  Her ex-husband’s familiar, ominous voice didn’t make her feel any better. She moved to the door, making sure she’d remembered to not only throw the locks, but put the chain on the door, too.

  “Shannon,” Dale snapped, making her jump.

  “Go away. You can’t be here. I have a restraining order.”

  “If you think a piece of paper will keep me away, you’re stupider than even I thought.”

  The comment stung, but he’d said a lot worse to her over the years. His words slurred, telling her he’d been out drinking, which made him all the more volatile. Drinking tended to make Dale forget his actions had consequences. Oh, he’d spout off apologies after he sobered up, but they were empty words she’d heard too many times.

  “I’ll call the cops.”

  “You do, and you’ll regret it. Just like that lawyer you’re fucking is going to regret stealing my wife.”

  The threat made her frown. Owen had been nothing but good and kind to her. He’d made her see that she deserved better than Dale. She deserved a man like Owen, who could provide for her in a way Dale never had.

  “Owen didn’t have anything to do with me leaving you.”

  “He filled your head with nonsense and lies. He’ll think twice now that I got him good.”

  She recognized that tone and the threat behind it. “What did you do, Dale?”

  “You think he’s something special, but he’s stringing you along while he’s got another woman on the side.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gripped her hands together, trying not to think of him with someone else. Her feelings for him had grown over the last months. They’d grown closer as friends, and she hoped something more.

  “He’s got a woman living in his house, keeping his bed warm, while you’re nothing but a cheap afternoon fuck.”

  “That’s not true.” Owen took care of her like Dale never did.

  “Sure is. Now open this fucking door.”

  His fists pounded so hard, he rattled the door in its frame and the chain clinked against the wood. She pressed both hands to it, holding it closed. When he got like this, there was no telling him to stop, or detouring him from whatever he got into his head.

  “I’m calling the police,” she screamed. “Go away.”

  He pounded the door with one more thwack of his fist against the outside and all went quiet. She waited. Nothing.

  She turned, her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor, her back against the door. All of a sudden, he pounded five more times, rattling her spine along with the door.

  “This isn’t over.”

  With those ominous words, everything went quiet again. Deep in her soul, she knew he meant those words. This would never end. He’d never stop. Unless someone stopped him.

  At one time, she’d appreciated his single-minded need for her. She’d cultivated it. Not anymore. She needed something more.

  She needed Owen.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  OWEN WOKE OUT of a restless sleep the second the phone rang. The clock read twelve forty-seven. Good news never came this late at night. He hoped this didn’t have anything to do with Shannon, his trouble-prone client. He wished he knew why women stayed in bad situations instead of walking away and never looking back. Shannon had a tendency to waffle under pressure. She’d given her husband far too many chances to prove he wasn’t worth a single one of them.

  He hoped she hadn’t listened to whatever sob story Dale conjured to elicit her sympathy, only to draw her in close again. Close enough to hurt her.

  Owen grabbed the phone on the second ring. “McBride.”

  “Owen, are you okay? He said he hurt you. You have to be all right. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

  The last part set off an alarm in his head. Wasn’t the first time she’d set it off either.

  “Shannon, slow down. What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

  “Dale. He came by, drunk and belligerent as always. Yelling about seeing us together and you taking me away from him.”

 
Owen raked his fingers through his hair and sat up on the side of the bed, naked and frustrated. Mostly because his bed was empty, but also because his client’s never-ending saga with her ex-husband continued to drag him into her life. He cared about all his clients in some respect, but she’d taken the job he did and the protection it provided her and made it into something more. She’d never quite crossed the line and pushed him for anything, but her reliance on him grew more and more each time they met. He needed some space.

  “Where is he now?”

  “He left when I refused to open the door and threatened to call the cops.”

  Well, at least she’d gotten that part right this time. In the past, she had opened the door and gotten yelled at and worse. She’d seen the inside of an emergency room more times than he’d like to count because of her ex.

  “Good job. Never open the door to him. He disobeyed the restraining order. I’ll contact the police and let them know.”

  “So, he didn’t hurt your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Her audible exhale of relief sent up another red flag. Still, he didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. He hadn’t dated anyone in nearly a year. God, had it been that long? His many restless nights confirmed the unhappy truth.

  Another call came in on his line. “Hold on, Shannon. I’ve got another call.”

  “Um, okay.”

  He clicked the talk button to switch lines. “McBride.”

  “Owen, it’s Dylan.”

  His cousin had moved back to town recently with his adopted son and took over as sheriff. The late-night call probably meant more trouble.

  “Hey man. What’s up?”

  “I’m looking for a guy about five-eleven says you slept with his wife. Know who I’m talking about?”

  Owen swore. “Dale Monoghan. Released from prison about a month ago. Spent those weeks of freedom stalking and harassing my client. Skipped out on the halfway house two days after moving in and has been MIA ever since. My client is on the other line. Dale just left her place spouting off about hurting me and my girlfriend, though I’m not seeing anyone. I’d appreciate it if you sent someone to her place to make sure he’s left and she’s in one piece.”