The Secrets of Bell River by Kathleen O'Brien

Author:Kathleen O'Brien
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-02-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

ONLY JANUARY SECOND, and already another party.

Jude couldn’t believe he’d been roped into attending this one—the second in three days. Who would have thought that a dude ranch and a trio of scandalous Wright women would turn sleepy little Silverdell into the social hub of western Colorado?

He should be at home. In his workshop. He’d been looking forward to it all day. His ankle ached from climbing a ladder, and his psyche ached from the cacophony of the group finishing work on the ranch building.

Jude pictured his solitary, well-organized little space, and felt a yearning to be sitting there, with a heavy piece of wood in his hands, letting the silence wash the tension of the day away. He was like his father that way, and he’d realized it even as a child. His dad didn’t talk his troubles away or convert them to rage, the way Haley’s father had—or Garth, Molly’s ex. Even at ten, though, Jude had recognized a certain inward-focused intensity on his father’s face that had meant he should be left alone while he worked.

His dad had always built the most beautiful pieces under stress, like the headboard he’d carved for his wife the month his mother, Jude’s grandmother, died. Similarly, Jude knew that the playpen he was making for Beeba had reached a tricky point, and concentrating on that would make all his other worries go away.

He probably wouldn’t even think about Tess Spencer.

Pregnant Tess Spencer. Thank goodness he’d found that out before things got out of control. It was easier to see today. That night, it had nearly killed him to pull back, to act as if he hadn’t turned to ashes on the inside. He’d been in fairly foul humor yesterday. Molly wasn’t speaking to him, and had spent all her time crying on the phone to Flora about what a beast he was.

Good, because the more Molly trusted Flora, the sooner she’d agree to move to Chicago. She needed a life.

And so did he.

When he thought those words, two women flashed before his mental eye. Haley. And Tess.

“Jude?” Fanny Bronson touched his elbow, jolting him out of his reverie. “Have you met Acton Adams?”

Reluctantly, Jude brought his mind to Fanny Bronson’s bookstore, where Adams, the golfer behind Silverdell Hills, was signing copies of his biography. His new golf resort, designed by Max, wouldn’t be finished for at least another six months, but Adams apparently couldn’t wait that long to surround himself with adoring fans.

Jude had sized up the man in an instant. Early fifties. Too many beers, too much money. One shade too white on the veneers, one shade too dark on the tanning machine. The guy probably had been a big deal some years ago. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed that the parade of time and fame had kept on marching, while his rose-covered float was standing still.

“No, I haven’t.” Jude held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he lied.

Acton’s grip was mighty, and the ensuing shake was like someone trying to get water out of an old hand-pump.

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