Brash (The Cavanaugh Brothers) - Softcover

Wright, Laura

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0451465083 ISBN 13: 9780451465085

Publisher: Berkley, 2015

Synopsis

The New York Times bestselling author of the Cavanaugh Brothers novels returns to the Cavanaugh’s Texas Triple C ranch as the brothers confront the painful memories of their childhood and the truth about their sister’s murder...

No matter how many fights UFC champion Cole Cavanaugh wins, he can’t rid himself of the guilt of not having saved his twin sister’s life. Now, not only is he facing his arch enemy in the ring, he’s fighting to uncover the truth about Cass’s death. But will winning both fights truly give him the retribution and absolution he seeks? Or does he need the healing power of love to finally move on with his life?

The mystery surrounding Cass’s murder also haunts veterinarian Grace Hunter. Many believe that her father might hold the key to the truth. Unfortunately the ex-Sheriff’s deteriorating mental state makes it impossible to separate fact from fiction. As Cole persuades Grace to help him unlock the elusive clues, her defenses weaken. She finds the Stetson-wearing fighter irresistible. But while the truth could free Cole’s heart, it could very well end up shattering hers.

About this title

About the Author

Laura Wright is a New York Times bestselling author who is passionate about romantic fiction. Though she has spent most of her life immersed in acting, singing, and competitive ballroom dancing, when she found the world of writing and books and endless cups of coffee, she knew she was home. Brash is the third novel in the Cavanaugh Brothers series, following Branded and Broken. Laura lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young children, and two lovable dogs.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

PRAISE FOR THE CAVANAUGH BROTHERS SERIES

Also by Laura Wright

SIGNET ECLIPSE

Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh

May 5, 2002

Dear Diary,

I think Sweet’s right. Someone is following us. This is what happened. I was at the drugstore today after school. I was hoping maybe Sweet would come in because I haven’t seen or heard from him in three days. And it’s where we first locked eyes and all. I really wanted to know why he didn’t meet me the other night like he said he was going to. I wanted to know if it was because of the kiss. I practiced it on my hand a couple of times, and I didn’t think it was all that bad. Well, he did come in. He was buying all sorts of strange things like headache medicine and baking soda. He looked surprised to see me. But when I went up to him, he smiled his amazing smile and told me he’d meet me behind the diner in ten minutes.

Diary, I waited for a half hour, and he didn’t come. Why would he do that? Did something happen to him? Does he just not like me anymore?

My brain tells me to hate him, but my heart tells my brain to shut up. Who do I listen to?

Stupid boys.

Okay, here’s the weird part. When I was walking over to the diner, I felt someone’s eyes on me. I looked all around and didn’t see no one. But I swear they were there!

What if it’s one of my brothers?

Maybe they discovered what we’ve been doing!!

I could ask ’em? Or talk to Mac? I’m so confused. I hate how my heart feels right now. Heavy and broken.

Cass

One

Cole Cavanaugh watched as Johnny Blair dropped his needle into the red ink, then resumed his special brand of torture.

“You gonna tell me what this stands for, man?” Johnny asked, working the final curve of a C on Cole’s shoulder. “Or do I need to guess?”

Cole smirked at the Austin-based artist who had inked nearly every one of his tats. “Guess away, brother.”

Black brows lifted over pale green eyes. “Woman’s initials?”

Cole snorted. “Hell, no.”

The guy chuckled, the two small studs in his lower lip flattening against his teeth. “Your next victim in the ring?”

“Nah, man. That joker’s blood on my knuckles is all the stain I need.” He glanced down at the finished artwork. “These three C’s are for the ranch where I grew up.”

Johnny placed the tat gun on the metal side table beside Cole’s chair. “I didn’t know you were a ranch boy, Cavanaugh.”

“Born and bred.”

“And now branded,” the man said as he cleaned Cole’s skin, then slathered some A&D ointment on it.

“Let’s get to bandaging,” Cole said, not wanting to go any further into discussions about the Triple C and how he grew up and why he left. Some shit needed to stay private outside River Black. “I have training in an hour.”

Johnny shook his head but grabbed the bandages and tape. “Will it do any good if I tell you to wait until tomorrow? Give this some time to heal?”

Tomorrow wouldn’t be possible. He was heading back to the ranch tonight. “Thirteen tats and I’ve never had a problem.”

“Fine,” Johnny said. “I’m gonna wrap it up extra good, but if someone knocks you there, it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker.”

“I’m counting on it,” Cole said without thinking.

“Damn,” Johnny said, fitting the bandage. “Had no idea you were such a masochist.”

He wasn’t. Not really. Well, maybe in the beginning, right after Cass had been taken, after he’d left home and gone underground. Maybe then he’d wanted to feel the pain. Hell, maybe he’d thought he deserved it. But now it was all about vengeance. Every fight. Every bruise. Every drop of blood. It belonged to the one who got away . . . with murder.

He eyed the tattoo artist. “Just makes my adrenaline rush. Heightens my awareness. Fuels the fight. That kind of thing.”

“When’s your match?” Johnny asked him.

“Next week.”

“Who you beatin’ down?”

“Fred Fontana.”

The man’s head jerked up fast. “Oh, shit.”

Oh, shit’s right, Cole thought with a dry grin. Fred Omega Fontana had a rep for nearly killing anyone who stepped into the ring with him. He was the one bastard Cole had yet to beat. The ungettable get. The ultimate in vengeance.

“You ready?” Johnny asked as he pushed back in his chair and stripped off his gloves. “Physically? Mentally? All that shit?”

“Hell, yeah,” Cole told him.

But the words were forced. So was the hard-ass show he was putting on. The fire and fury that normally pulsed in his blood this close to a fight weren’t there. Maybe too much had happened lately. Marriages and engagements. Inheriting the Triple C along with his brothers. Including a brother he never knew he had. And too many damn memories assaulting him at every turn. It was why he’d decided to get the Triple C brand inked into his skin. He was hoping it would put that wicked heat, that anger, that venom he’d felt when he’d run from the place back into his gut and heart. Because, fuck him, if it didn’t show up and do its job in the ring next week, the hope of finding out the truth about his sister’s death wasn’t the only thing he was going to lose. He might very well lose his life.

*   *   *

“You have issues, Belle,” Grace Hunter told her passenger, an aging basset hound who had just howled her damn head off as they drove past the Triple C ranch.

And it wasn’t the first time.

Any time Belle got within spitting distance of where Cole Cavanaugh hung his hat, the dog howled.

Grace glanced over at the pup, sitting on her cute rump, buckled in, head out the open window of Grace’s blue 1960 Dodge pickup, long ears flapping in the breeze. “He’s not interested in you, Miss Girl. He was only out for information.”

Belle ignored the reminder that Cole Cavanaugh’s visit to the vet clinic a few days ago—under the pretense that he wanted to adopt the basset hound—was a lie. As soon as Grace had slipped out of the office, that rat bastard had gone through her files and found out where her ill and aging father was living.

“He hasn’t been back in days,” she reminded Belle as she got onto the highway. “Probably off practicing for that bloodbath he calls a job.” She grimaced at the thought. She’d never actually been to a fight, but she imagined it was horrific. “You don’t want that kind of guy buying your kibble, now do you?”

This time Belle turned to look at her. Droopy eyes and a glorious frown.

“Someone who beats people up for a living?” Grace asked.

The basset hound barked.

“Yeah, yeah, I know he’s good-looking and unpredictable, and charming in an overbearing way,” Grace continued, “but let me tell you from experience: that combination is nothing but trouble. Those kinds of guys are all Love ’em and leave ’em. Or in my case, Screw ’em and take off in the middle of the night.” Grace exhaled heavily as she recalled the majority of her college dating experiences.

Belle seemed unconvinced, and once again turned to stare out the window.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But when he breaks your heart, don’t come crying to me.”

For exactly thirty seconds, she held on to that threat. Then she caved. Oh, who was she kidding? Sweet Belle could come crying to her anytime, and Grace would take her in her arms and let her know it was okay. Then, later, when they were sharing a pint of ice cream, she would gently counsel the canine that if she wanted a real future with someone who would be there for her through thick and thin, she needed to look for stable instead of stunning, reliable instead of reactive. And instead of inked-up skin and hard waves of muscles, a balanced, tender, soulful heart.

She pulled off the highway and headed toward the center of town. Speaking of tender hearts, she was going to see her dad today. See if she could get him to clear up this mess with Caleb Palmer. Not only was her father’s best friend in jail for assaulting James Cavanaugh’s fiancée, he’d claimed to know something about Cass Cavanaugh’s abduction and murder. God, what happened all those years ago? she thought as she turned into the Barrington Ridge Senior Care parking lot and found a space. And what had happened to Caleb? Except for her time spent in school, Grace had known the man fairly well. She’d never seen a bad side to him. But, clearly, a monster resided within. He’d hurt Sheridan O’Neil, could’ve killed her, and Grace prayed he’d never get out of jail. Now all she was interested in was clearing her father’s name. Making sure everyone knew that he wasn’t connected to Caleb’s actions and insinuations. Hell, she didn’t want him connected to Caleb in any way, if she could help it. No visits, no phone calls. Maybe then she could finally get the Cavanaughs off her back.

Especially the tattooed one.

With Belle leashed and walking beside her, Grace entered the front door of the care facility and headed down the hall. Gentle piano music played from the overhead speakers and the scent of cleaning products and breakfast foods hung thickly in the air. Barrington Ridge had cleared her request to bring Belle along. Her dad had owned a dog for many years—one that had been at his side or in his patrol car nearly day and night—and Grace was hopeful the canine would stir his memory. Or at the very least keep him calm and lucid while they talked.

“Awww, ain’t she sweet?” one of the nurses remarked as they passed by.

“Hiya, Grace,” another one called from behind the desk.

“Morning, Elisabeth, Bev,” Grace returned cheerfully. She pointed to her father’s door. “He awake?”

Phone to her ear, Beverly nodded. “Just finished his breakfast ’bout ten minutes ago.”

“Thanks,” Grace said, moving down the corridor as Belle tried to sniff every inch of the floor, wall, and desks.

Bright sunlight and the heavy scent of bacon welcomed Grace as she entered the room. As usual, her father was seated at the small table near the window. He liked the light and the breeze, just as he had at home. His nose was in a magazine and he was flipping through the pages at lightning speed. Steam rose from a coffee cup to his right.

“What are we reading today, Dad?” she asked, coming over and slipping into one of the chairs beside him. “Fishing or dirt bike racing?”

Peter Hunter glanced up and smiled brightly when he saw her. At sixty-three, he was still a very handsome man. Had all of his dark hair, and those hazel eyes—when lucid—were sharp and curious. “Gracie?”

Grace’s heart ballooned inside her chest and exploded in a rush of gratefulness. It was the way of it now. Every time she walked into his room, she wondered if his eyes would flash with warm recognition or cool disinterest.

“Hi, Dad,” she said with gentle warmth, leaning forward. This was the man who had become her everything when her mother had passed from a car accident when she was ten. This was the man who had tucked her into bed at night, made her spaghetti and s’mores, and green smoothies when she was on a health kick. The man who had let her stay up late and told her stories about his adventures as sheriff. Protected her, loved her, treated her like she was the most special thing in the world. Made her believe she could be anything she wanted to be.

Her hero.

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back.

“Who’s the mongrel?” he asked good-naturedly.

Grace grinned. “This is Belle. She’s a friend of mine.”

Her father reached down and gave the basset hound, who had been waiting patiently beside the table, a pat on the head and a rub under the chin. Belle leaned into him and licked his hand. For a moment it seemed as though her father was as content and happy and clear as she’d seen him of late. But after a moment, his face fell and he pulled his hand away. “Those eyes . . . she looks about as miserable as I feel,” he ground out bitterly.

Grace pushed back the wall of pain that threatened to steal her hope and faith. “Why are you miserable, Dad?”

“Stuck in here when I have a job to do,” he explained, his chin lifting in that way it always did when he talked about his work as a sheriff. “People out there who need me. If I’m not sprung soon, I could lose my job, Gracie. Your mama doesn’t bring in enough midwifing.”

God, it hurt her so much to hear him talk about the past as though it was the present. Thinking her mom was still alive. But hurt didn’t help him, and it sure didn’t do anything to protect his good name.

“Dad,” she began gently. “I need you to tell me about Mr. Palmer.”

His dark brows rose and he looked momentarily interested. “Caleb?”

She nodded.

“Well, honey, he is my very best friend.” A hint of a smile played about his lips. “Good man. Right good man. Always there for me. That’s how friends should be. Don’t you forget that.”

Grace reached down and started stroking Belle’s head. “He’s done something terrible.”

Her father didn’t even hesitate before answering. “No, no, baby. Not him.”

“Yes, Dad,” she insisted, breath caught in her lungs, bracing herself for what was coming. “He hurt a woman.”

“What do you mean, hurt?” He sat back in his chair looking utterly dumbstruck for a moment. Then his skin went cow udder white and he gasped. “Lord Almighty! He takin’ the blame for that, is he?”

Shit. So her father had already heard about the attack. Grace would have to speak to Bev and Elisabeth. In his condition, he shouldn’t be hearing about such upsetting things from anyone but her.

“He admitted it, Dad. There were witnesses and a police report. And the woman’s going to testify against him.”

A sad smile touched Peter Hunter’s mouth. “How can she, baby? She’s dead.”

A boulder the size of Texas rolled through Grace and sat there, festering in her belly. Her pulse pounded savagely in her blood. Instead of asking him to clarify his words or continue, she wanted, more than anything, to get up and walk out. But she had to ask, didn’t she? It’s why she’d come. To find out what he knew. To find out the truth.

“Who are you talking about, Dad?” she began softly.

“That girl, Gracie dear.” His gaze shifted to his magazine and he started thumbing through the pages once again. “Cass Cavanaugh.”

Two

“You two should be on an island somewhere,” Cole grumbled, dropping into a chair. “Those looks you’re passing between you gotta be making everyone in this place damn uncomfortable.”

“What looks?” Sheridan asked, turning away from her fiancé to stare confusedly into the faces of her new family, who were all clustered around a table inside the decently packed Bull’s Eye.

Cole just snorted. Love. It made his lip curl. The idea of it. The weakness of it. Could slice you in two, drop you to your knees if you gave in to it. How the hell his brothers had fallen off the face of the earth into that pit of bullshit he’d never know. But he wanted no part of it. Ever.

Leaning in close to Sheridan’s ear, Cole’s brother James bit the lobe gently. “I think he’s referring to how I look when I’m staring at you, honey. ...

Edition details

• Publisher: Berkley
• Publication date: 2015
• ISBN 10: 0451465083
• ISBN 13: 9780451465085
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Language: English
• Number of pages: 320