Chapter 1
The kind of woman Brady McCassey usually went for was not a skinny, five-and-a-half-feet-tall
hippie chick who wore hip-hugging bell bottom jeans and walked around
barefoot. And never in his wildest
dreams did he imagine himself being attracted to someone wearing a coronet of
wildflowers around a head of long, pin-straight, dark blonde hair.
But the decades-out-of-style look fit the girl with the
porcelain complexion. She read Tarot
cards for the band of gypsy hippies putting on a week-long festival in
It didn’t say much for his integrity that he wished his hands
could take the place of the rose petal patches on the seat of her pants. But because he was a McCassey and wasn’t
expected to have any anyway, he was okay with justifying the stereotype just
this once.
Brady had wandered into
The potent shine had worked its magic as quickly as it
always did. Although he wasn’t drunk, he
was buzzed enough that the sharp edges of reality that constantly poked at him
had been dulled. He was relaxed enough
to feel confident about talking to the hot hippy chick, but wasn’t so far gone
that he was able to convince himself that doing it would be a good idea. He would need an even bigger,
filled-to-the-top flask for that.
Resigned to the fact that he was just about out of
moonshine—thereby stuck admiring the girl from afar—Brady slipped the flask
into his back pocket and resumed what could be defined in some courts of law as
stalking. Silently, he stood motionless
in the shadows of the willow.
So intently focused on the low cut ‘V’ of the girl’s nearly
see-through shirt, Brady didn’t realize anyone was behind him until he felt the
slight tickle of his shirt moving against his skin. Instantly alert; he whirled around as he
simultaneously reached into the back waistband of his jeans and pulled his
weapon. In less time than it took to
draw a breath, he had a firm hold on his assailant, and was pressing a cocked
and loaded .357 Magnum—complete with a silencer—against their temple.
And in less time than that, he nearly had a heart attack.
Brady disengaged his weapon as soon as he realized who he’d
almost shot. He did nothing to hide his
violently shaking hands as he released his cousin Georgia and jammed the gun
back into his waistband. “Jesus goddamn
Christ, Georgia, I almost shot you!”
he hollered in a panic; his own voice completely unrecognizable.
Brady’s thoughts were all over the place as he stared at
her trying to regain his composure.
Although he’d spoken a moment before, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself
to do it now. The more it sunk in that
he’d been ready to put a bullet in his young cousin’s brain, the more unsettled
he became. His heart continued to race
as he struggled to gain control of his breathing. Sweating profusely, he paced back and forth
in an effort to calm down.
When he finally felt he was able to speak, he approached
her cautiously.
Brady inhaled and exhaled several times. He took his time releasing his final breath,
hoping the emotion churning in his stomach stayed out of his voice. “Christ, Georgia,” he whispered as the breath
whooshed from his lungs. “I’m sorry.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked up;
her royal blue eyes bored holes through his unsteadiness.
“I—” He what? What
was he supposed to say? He had no excuse
for almost killing her.
Brady would’ve backed away when Georgia stepped toward him,
but the trunk of the old tree that had been an asset not five minutes earlier,
was suddenly a crippling hindrance. With
her standing less than a foot in front of him, he was trapped. “
She sniffed loudly and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “You wreak.”
He’d taken a shower that morning, but knew it wasn’t his scent she’d picked up. Before he could stop her,
Normally, he would’ve retaliated against her assault.
“I’d recognize the smell of that toxic poison my brother calls
moonshine anywhere.”
“So?” Brady
winced. So? What the hell kind of response was that? What was he, a ten-year-old kid?
“So,” she drawled in the accent that gave her away as being
raised in southwestern
“What’s wrong with me? You know better than to sneak up on one of us
the way you just did. Your brothers
would tell you the same thing.”
It was obvious she was angry. Her eyes were wide and she looked like she
wanted to hit him. He hoped she didn’t. Other than the fact that it would be more
than wrong to lay a hand on a girl thirteen years younger than him, she was
stronger than she looked, and her right hook had the potential to do some
damage.
She reached out and gave him a shove that pressed his back
against the tree trunk. He wasn’t happy
about it, but considering the circumstances, it was a retaliation he could live
with.
“That’s not what I was talking about, and you know it! And for the record, Quick Draw, I didn’t
sneak up on you. I called your
name. Twice. It’s not my fault that Blackie’s moonshine
has pickled your brain, or that you were so preoccupied with the pretty
fortuneteller that you didn’t hear me.”
Brady’s gaze followed
She had him there. The
girl certainly was…distracting.
It wasn’t until after Brady’s hasty, “Don’t tell,” that he
realized how stupid it sounded. Maybe he
really was a ten-year-old.
He sighed. There was
no way to talk his way out of this one.
He was just going to have to be honest.
“Look,
He didn’t think she’d go for it.
“Are you drunk?” she asked quietly.
It was a legitimate question.
She knew how potent Blackie’s moonshine was…and how much he liked to
drink it. He shook his head. “I wasn’t drunk, kid, just feeling pretty
good.”
“Are you still?”
He chuckled in spite of himself; his high had disappeared the
instant recognition had set in. “Hell
no. Almost wasting you was a real buzz
killer.”
“Good.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
After a deep sigh of relief, he grinned in an effort to lighten
the mood. She didn’t bite. “I don’t know what’s so funny about roaming
around the park with a loaded gun, Brady.”
“Shh! Is it really
necessary for you to announce it to the world?”
“I don’t need to announce that you’re stupid. Everyone already knows.”
So much for them being okay.
Frustrated and beyond caring whether or not the rest of his family was
going to murder him for almost killing
That time, her brows furrowed. “What do you care?”
The tone of her voice made him feel like an asshole. Brady was known for being both careless and
reckless—and apparently now…stupid, because it wasn’t obvious to him until that
very second that he’d really scared
her. She’d probably honestly thought he
was going to shoot her, and probably felt like he didn’t care.
To try and comfort her, Brady reached out and tugged on a strand
of dark, loose curly hair that had escaped her ponytail. Out of fear that she still might hit him, that
was all the affection he was willing to attempt. “Come on,
“Checked it out?
Why? What’s going on?”
“Never mind about that.
Your brothers asked me to take a look around, so I’m taking a look
around. Now what about you? How come you’re here?”
“Missy and I were at the field.
I’m working on a curve ball, and she needed batting practice. We stopped by on our way back to the garage.”
“A curve ball? In
softball?” Brady has his doubts about
that one. It was nearly impossible to
throw an underhanded pitch with a curve without killing someone.
Instead of coming right out and telling her she was full of
shit, Brady politely—and silently—raised his brows.
A few feet away, Brady looked at the girl who’d been
Not sure why he didn’t notice her earlier, Brady now knew he was
in trouble. Missy was completely
pale. She’d obviously witnessed what
he’d done. “Missy—” he reached out to
her, but she backed away.
Terrific. There went any
chance of keeping it a secret. “It was
an accident,” he tried to explain. Even
though Missy had accepted the fact that the McCassey’s were wild and often
handled things with firearms and violence, he knew she was occasionally
surprised by some of the things that went on in their family. She was getting better at accepting the guys’
untamed ways, but Brady had a feeling he’d just set her progress back at least
a year.
Georgia looked over at her friend and winked, and Brady waited
patiently as the two girls—who he finally noticed were wearing sweatpants,
dusty, sweat-stained tank tops, and cleats—huddled together in a frenzy of
whispers. When they separated and turned
to him, he had a feeling his punishment was far going to outweigh the crime.
“We won’t tell anyone what you did,”
Brady crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back against
the tree. They wanted something…he could
smell it. “What’s the catch?”
“You have to have your fortune told,”
Brady mulled over the proposition and weighed his options. Having his fortune told meant having to talk
to the strikingly beautiful girl he’d been watching all morning. Strangers made him nervous—especially strange
women.
But the alternative to fifteen minutes of prickling discomfort
in the presence of a woman was far worse.
Blackie’s former biker gang, the Renegades, didn’t call that man ‘The
Devil’ because he looked good in red. At
six foot seven inches tall and over three hundred pounds of solid muscle, he’d
been a dangerous man even before
spending a combined total of thirteen years in prison. Now, he was a hundred times more lethal. Since they were family, Blackie probably
wouldn’t kill Brady for pulling a loaded gun on
And Brady hated to bleed.
“Deal,” he told the girls.
Missy laughed and stepped away from them. “Well, you two have fun.”
“After all that, you’re leaving?
Where are you going?”
“Home. I promised Flynn
I’d be ready to go by noon.” She paused
and looked at her watch. “That was ten
minutes ago. I don’t want him to have to
come looking for me.”
“You’re not going to…mention…this to him, are you?”
Missy simply smiled as she turned away.
Brady let out a long breath.
“You two are killing me. You know
that, right?”
He stumbled forward; the strength of
When they reached the hippy chick’s camper,
Mindlessly, Brady did as she instructed and claimed the
chair on the opposite side of the table.
He was so captivated by her soft, natural beauty, he was having trouble
concentrating. Although he enjoyed the
feeling of being captivated by her, it was dangerous for someone like him not
to be alert.
Even as his body began to tingle when the girl took his
hands in hers, Brady took a couple of deep breaths to try and clear his
head. Rough, calloused, and
grease-stained, he noticed that the condition of his hands were a sharp
contrast to her smooth, pale skin. Once
she’d turned them palm-up, she ran her index finger along each line in his hand
before reaching for her deck of Tarot cards.
Wordlessly, the girl spread the cards across the
table. She took her time examining each
one she turned face up; every once in a while raising her head and looking into
his eyes.
Her stare made him nervous; made him feel like she was
looking directly into his soul…what was left of it, anyway.
Completely captivated by everything about her, Brady ignored the
prickle of the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck.
“You’re in danger,” the girl whispered. Despite the warning, her voice spread warmth
from his temples to his toes.
“I’m always in danger,” he replied with a grin. It was the truth; Brady lived his life
looking over his shoulder.
Seemingly unaffected by his attempt to charm her, she reiterated
the warning. “Trouble is coming.”
Brady heard her, but wasn’t alarmed. “I’m used to that.”
With a very unsettled expression, the girl continued to
stare. He was touched that a
stranger—and a beautiful one at that—was so concerned about him. To try and lighten the mood, he changed the
subject. “What’s your name?”
The girl studied him for a moment before rising from her
chair. In a move that shocked Brady
silent, she put her hands behind her head, and in one swift motion, removed a
long silver necklace from around her neck and slipped it over his head. The small silver star pendant dangling from
the chain rested in the middle of his chest.
“My name is Starr,” she said solemnly as she turned away. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” Brady
reached for her, but was too late to halt her hasty retreat.
Lost in confusion, it was several seconds before he
recognized the popping sound in the background as gunfire, but he recognized
His senses on high alert and his gun firmly in his left
hand, Brady dragged Georgia, who he’d practically been lying on top of, toward
a small cluster of trees. “Are you
okay?”
He tore his gaze away from the now-empty center of the park, and
looked down when he felt
She tried to push him off of her. “No!
You’re crushing me, Brady. Get
off!”
“Sorry.” Brady shifted
his weight and repositioned himself to where he was no longer on top of her,
but was still close enough to shield her in case of more gunfire.
“What’s going on?” she asked angrily. “Did you have something to do with this?”
Still flat on his stomach and breathing heavily, Brady scanned
the area in search of the gunmen, then turned his head and gave
“A legitimate one, considering the fact that you’re carrying a
gun.”
“I always carry a gun,” he said matter-of-factly, not once taking
his eyes off the area around them.
“Yeah, a half hour ago, all I did was touch you, Brady, and you
almost shot me. Don’t tell me you
weren’t expecting trouble.”
What was he supposed to say?
He didn’t like to lie, especially to her. But the truth would sound ridiculous…even
coming from him. “I—”
He stopped short when the loud pop of gunfire once again split
the air. When he spotted movement by the
trees where he, Georgia, and Missy had been standing not fifteen minutes
earlier, Brady raised his gun, ready to fire.
“No!” Georgia shrieked and reached out, trying to grab his gun.
He swatted her away.
“Be still,
“Brady,” she pleaded.
“What, goddammit!”
“You can’t shoot into a crowd of people!”
Frustrated that she’d ruined his chance to get a shot off,
he not-so-gently elbowed her. “What
crowd of people, Georgia? There’s not a goddamn
soul out there anymore except for the assholes shooting at us!”
“You can’t get into a gun battle in
That thought had been in the back of his mind since he’d
pulled his weapon, but hearing
“No, of course not,” she answered quickly.
Brady surprised himself with the coldness in which he
responded. “Then why do you expect me to?”
He watched as recognition hit her, and felt bad. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I don’t take myself seriously, either.”
“I do take you seriously, Brady. And I know you’re as tough as Blackie. It’s just that I don’t want you to go to
prison. I don’t even understand why
you’re so set on finding the shooter.
Why are you taking such a risk?
You said this didn’t have anything to do with you.”
The lump in his throat threatened to cut off his air. He didn’t know for sure whether it had
anything to do with him or not. But had
a feeling it did. His gut never lied. “Yeah, about that—”
“Brady!” The shriek
of his name had nothing to do with her being angry; the faint sound of rapidly
approaching sirens had startled them both.
“It’s okay.” He
reassured her as he jumped to his feet, simultaneously pulling
She grabbed for his gun, but he held it out of her
reach. “Give it to me, Brady! I’m not on probation; I can’t get in trouble
with it!”
He caught her wrist in his hand and squeezed hard to keep
her still. “Go home,
“But Brady—”
He squinted and hardened his expression. “Go!”
This just wasn’t his day.
When Brady heard the police cruisers come to a screeching
halt, he started searching for somewhere to stash the .357. In a bush or behind a rock wasn’t going to
cut it. He was a McCassey, which in this
town, meant he was guilty until proven innocent. Although Sheriff Walton was a fair man, he
would likely assume Brady had been up to no good, and probably comb the area
searching for evidence to prove himself right.
Unable to find a good place to stash his gun, Brady had
just resigned himself to the fact that he was going to spend the rest of his
life in prison, when he heard a quiet, “Psst.”
He looked to his right and left, but didn’t see anyone.
“Psst!” the sound came again.
That time, he looked behind him and saw the hippy chick
peeking out the door of her camper. She
motioned to his gun and clapped her hands together, then held them out like she
wanted him to throw the weapon to her.
That couldn’t be right.
Confused, he shrugged.
When the sound of slamming car doors broke the silence, the
girl frantically motioned to the gun again and clapped her hands. At that point, it didn’t really matter why
she was willing to help him. Her offer
was going to keep him a free man, and for the time being, that was all that
mattered.
Brady briefly glanced in the direction of the approaching
officers, then back at the hippy chick.
He disengaged the weapon and tossed it to her. She closed her camper door and he turned
around just as Sheriff Walton appeared.
The look on the tall, lanky lawman’s face as he approached
Brady was not a friendly one.
“Brady.”
The sheriff extended his hand; Brady nodded and shook it. “Sheriff.”
“Should I bother asking you what went on here?”
He shrugged. “Other
than there being shots fired, I honestly don’t know what happened.”
“Is there someone who can verify that?”
“My cousin Georgia. She and I were standing right here when the firing started.”
Sheriff Walton turned and looked toward the trees, then back at Brady. “Where is she now?”
“I sent her home. School’s over. She’s back at Blackie’s.”
“I know where she lives,” he said in an I-don’t-quite-believe-you voice. “Are you armed?”
Brady held his hands in the air. “Only with a set of keys, my Buck knife, and a cigarette lighter,” he answered. But because he knew what was coming, Brady turned his back on the sheriff. He spread his legs, raised his arms, and leaned his palms against the tree trunk waiting to be patted down.
When the sheriff finally seemed convinced that Brady wasn’t carrying a weapon, he holstered his gun. “Go home, Brady. The park’s closed until we finish our investigation. If I see you or any other McCassey—Georgia included—anywhere near here before it reopens, you’re all spending the night in a holding cell. Got it?”
Brady held both his hands in the air again and took several steps back. When he was a good ten feet away, he turned his back on the sheriff, jammed his hands in his front pockets, and slowly made his way toward the park’s entrance gate.
It wasn’t lost on him that that the hippy chick had saved his ass from being sent to prison.
Neither was the fact that she still had his gun.
And that in order to get it back, he was going to have to talk to her again.