Seeking mr dependable, p.1
Seeking Mr. Dependable, page 1
Seeking Mr. Dependable
The Jane Austen Pact
Cami Checketts
Contents
Free Book
The Jane Austen Pact
Seeking Mr. Dependable
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
The Determined Groom: Texas Titan Romances
Also by Cami Checketts
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The Jane Austen Pact
I, Brooke Isaacson, do solemnly swear to seek after and marry a man who is as dependable as a Jane Austen hero.
Seeking Mr. Dependable
Chapter One
Brooke Isaacson stared into the wrong end of a pistol and knew her life was over. Her childhood crush, Gerald Tueller, had reached an entire new level of crazy when she’d returned his engagement ring half an hour ago. She’d known the idiot carried a pistol around, but she’d doubted he knew how to use it. His lack of expertise wouldn’t matter much if he pulled the trigger from a foot away.
“I’m thinking it’s time to calm down.” She held her hands up beseechingly. “If you kill me, what will happen to your run for Kentucky’s Attorney General?” Sometimes reminding him of his aspirations soothed Gerald, but the stress of campaigning must have finally flipped his insanity switch. He’d gone from a fun-loving boyfriend to a too-attentive fiancé, to nitpicky about lame things like what color of dress she wore to an event, to a stark-raving lunatic—all within a few months’ time.
Brooke had admired him since she was a little girl. Their mothers had begun planning the wedding when Brooke and Gerald started officially dating as she finished her undergrad and he completed law school—neither of them complained. She’d thought she was living a charmed life when he proposed six months ago. Now she realized it was a nightmare, and any love she thought she had for him had disappeared into fear and loathing.
Gerald smiled. “I can get away with anything I want. You should know that.”
It was true. Though they’d grown up together in Versailles, Kentucky, and both of their families were accomplished at making money and racing horses, the Tueller family was especially well-loved, well-connected, and well-respected. Gerald’s dad was a U.S. Senator, for crying out loud. Nobody would believe that Gerald was bat-crap crazy. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t been given an inside track as his fiancée. Ex-fiancée, now. Not that anyone would hear about that glorious development in their relationship when she wound up dead.
Gerald eased closer to her, not lowering the pistol one fraction. She supposed playing college tennis for Duke before law school had made his hands pretty steady. “I’ll kill you and I’ll make it look like I put up a valiant struggle to save my beautiful fiancée. Then I’ll wipe my fingerprints clean, get Tubby in here, and explain how a stranger came in and shot you.” He smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll use small words. I’ll easily get him to put his paws all over the gun and your bloody corpse while he cries for his best friend, and then I’ll blame him for your senseless murder. He’s too dumb to mount any defense, and I’ll get even more attention for my campaign.”
Brooke’s breath was coming hard and fast, and it had nothing to do with her own imminent death. “Don’t you dare involve Tubby,” she growled. She wouldn’t let Gerald ruin one of her closest friend’s lives. Tubby had worked for her father’s ranch for as long as she could remember, and he was like a big brother to her. A big brother whose mind had never progressed past a six-year-old’s understanding. Tubby was innocent, kind, and the happiest person Brooke knew.
Gerald threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, Brooke, always the soft heart. I’m going to kill you, and all you care about is your retarded friend?” He waved the pistol around as he had a good chuckle.
Brooke roared and dove at him. She knocked down the arm holding the pistol and grabbed at his hands, pushing the gun toward him. Gerald yelped in surprise and the pistol’s retort roared through Brooke’s living room. Brooke screamed out as loud as Gerald. She expected the bullet to rip through her body, but she felt nothing.
Gerald’s grip slackened and the pistol dropped to the ground. His breath rushed out with a loud pop, and he sank to the floor. Blood dripped from his thigh onto her plush white rug.
Brooke stared down at him, frozen with shock.
Gerald grasped his leg. He glared up at her. “You’re going to pay for this.”
Slowly, Brooke backed away.
“You can’t run far enough away, Brooke.” He gasped the words out, obviously in pain. “You know about my contacts in the FBI and with the local police. Everyone will believe you tried to kill me, and you’ll rot in a prison cell.”
Brooke simply stared at him. He was right. Because of his father’s connections and position as a U.S. Senator, Gerald had done an internship during law school with the FBI and had a lot of friends in various departments. His police record was spotless and everyone loved him. Meanwhile, during college Brooke had been active in causes to protect the less fortunate and had two arrests on her record; one of them involved assaulting a policeman who’d knocked down her innocent Down syndrome friend at a rally to raise awareness of mental handicaps and their influence on homelessness.
“Unless you want to forget this all happened and commit to being my trophy wife.” Gerald groaned as he pushed harder against his leg.
“Never,” Brooke croaked.
“I’m going to ruin you,” Gerald sneered. He gasped out in pain and dug his phone out of his pocket.
Brooke turned and sprinted for her kitchen. She grabbed her purse and keys off the counter and was in her Tesla Roadster and speeding out of her driveway in seconds. Her Tesla could do two-fifty, and she was a fabulous driver. Let the police try and catch her … if only her hands weren’t shaking so badly she could hardly hold on to the wheel.
Chapter Two
Ryker Redland listened to the news report as he filled the troughs for his beef cattle with a mixture of hay, grain, corn, and vitamins. He was behind tonight after dealing with a busted fence and a few dozen head of cattle wandering into his neighbor’s pasture. He usually listened to music or audiobooks while he worked, but the past few hours he’d been consumed with the media. His little sister Harley’s friend, Brooke Isaacson, had been kidnapped last night, and the story had gone viral this morning.
It was a feeding frenzy for the media. Brooke’s family were insanely wealthy horse breeders and ranchers, usually with a horse in the Kentucky Derby, and her fiancé had been shot trying to protect her when she was taken last night. The fiancé was a slick-looking politician, currently running for Kentucky’s Attorney General. Ryker hated him through the television screen where he’d first seen him begging America to find the love of his life.
Ryker hadn’t even known Brooke was engaged—not that it should matter. They’d shared a silly romance when he was sixteen and she was fourteen. She’d come to visit Harley for a few weeks after returning home from one of their girls’ camps, and Ryker had fallen hard and fast for her. It was juvenile teenage romance, but the feelings he had for Brooke hadn’t disappeared after ten years. They should’ve, though: he had women all over him all the time, and since he’d lost his fiancé there were no plans on the horizon for him to settle down with just one. Crew made fun of him and his mama bemoaned his playboy ways, but he was happy and busy and had no desire to settle down.
A hand touched his arm, and he jumped and whirled to see Brooke Isaacson. Right in front of him. Her long, blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her beautiful blue eyes looked exhausted, but she was every bit as perfect as he remembered her. More, actually. She’d matured into a woman.
Ryker ripped the headphones out of his ears and muttered, “Brooke?”
A whimper escaped her throat, and she threw herself into his arms. Ryker dropped the feed bag, tugged his gloves off, and wrapped her up in his embrace. He had to make a conscious effort not to hold her too tight; sometimes he forgot his own strength. The relief that Brooke was safe in his arms made him want to crush her close and never let her go. He wondered if he was hallucinating. How could she be here, in Wyoming, when she’d been kidnapped across the country? Why had she come to him? Were the kidnappers close?
“Are you safe? Are you alone?” he asked, trying to shelter her with his body while he strained to see who might be out there in the dark night.
“I’m alone,” she muttered. “I might never be safe again.”
“What can I do?” Protectiveness surged through him. He wasn’t going to allow anyone to hurt her.
“Just hold me for a minute, please.”
Ryker could definitely do that. He held her, and he savored it. He dated lots and lots of women, kissed them and sent them on their way. But he could count on one hand the times he’d simply held a woman and wanted to protect and comfort her. He couldn’t let this mean
“We need to call the police,” he said.
“No, please.” Brooke looked up at him, and her beauty stirred something deep in his abdomen. “I’m in a mess, Ryker, and I don’t know who to trust.”
He stared at her, baffled by her request to not involve the police. If she’d come to him, though, he didn’t want to break her trust. “You trust me?”
She nodded. Her blue eyes filled with pleading. Then she cuddled against him, and he could feel her body tremble and see tears rolling down her cheeks. Aw, no. Not tears. This beautiful lady not only trusted him, she’d chosen to drive across the country to find him. It made his chest swell and made him want to wrestle a bear, if need be, to keep her safe.
Brooke laid her head against Ryker’s lean chest and knew she was finally safe. Tears squeezed out of her lids and rolled past her lashes. She’d driven twenty-five hours straight with only short breaks to pee, grab more caffeine, and occasionally take a short nap. She’d found a seedy car dealer in Louisville who’d happily traded her an older Honda Accord and five thousand dollars cash for her Tesla Roadster, which was worth almost two hundred thousand dollars. The man was happy to make the exchange, no questions asked.
She’d called her mom and told her quickly that whatever Gerald said was a lie and she would contact them again when she was safe. Her mother, who still thought Gerald walked on water, had asked what on earth he would lie about.
Brooke hadn’t known at the time how Gerald would spin it, but she’d wanted her mom to know she was okay. She ditched her phone not long after that, unsure if Gerald could track her through it.
When she’d stopped at a gas station this morning, she’d seen her face on the television, seen Gerald claiming she’d been kidnapped. Her stomach had plummeted and she wasn’t sure how to combat his lies. She bought a hat and sunglasses and drove faster. As she drove, she wondered if she should’ve gone straight to her parents and used the proper channels to protect herself from Gerald.
Kidnapped. That was an interesting angle. As she thought back to that night, she realized he’d probably thought of that plan when he told her to run. He was smart; she’d give him that. She was falling right into his trap. He’d get a ton of sympathy and attention for the kidnapping story, and as soon as he found her, he’d kill her quickly and blame the alleged kidnappers.
She should stand up and dispute him, but the only thing that made sense, that felt right, was to get to Wyoming and her friend Harley as quickly as possible. Harley was the smartest person Brooke knew, and something about Wyoming just beamed safety to her. Ironically, when she’d come here as a teenager, she’d been terrified to be outside at night because she was sure a grizzly bear would get her. Her immature fears seemed so silly now, especially compared to the mess she was in right now.
She’d driven straight to Harley’s parents’ house, not sure where Harley and her new husband, Crew, lived. And now she was here, in Harley’s brother’s arms. A pair of manly arms around her had never felt this enticing and comforting at the same time.
Could it be possible that she’d driven across the country to find Ryker as much as Harley? She’d had the biggest crush on him at fourteen, and they’d shared a summer romance, but from the reports Harley had given over the years, he was a player with a capital P. What in the world was she doing clinging to him like he was her salvation and protection rolled into one? He probably thought she was insane, or at best unstable. Yet she was too tired and it felt too good to pull away just yet. Ryker was strong, had served in the military, and had that innate protection gene. He was a cowboy and good old boy clear through. He smelled amazing, like horses and sweet-scented musky cologne, just the way a man should smell, in her opinion—but then, she’d been raised in a horse barn.
Brooke just prayed that Harley, and Ryker, would believe her. They were her only hope at the moment. How sad that she trusted friends she hadn’t seen much since she was a teenager over her parents or her friends in Kentucky. Everyone in Kentucky, except for Tubby, was firmly planted on the Gerald bandwagon. No one had believed her when she’d tried to explain how crazy Gerald was acting over the past few months. Her parents had told her to stop being flighty and that it was just pre-wedding nerves. They said Brooke only knew how to relate to horses, not people. What could she say? Horses were a lot less drama.
Ryker pulled back and stared down at her. “You’re really okay?”
She nodded. “You saw the news?”
“Yes. I’ve been going bat-crap crazy worrying about you.”
For the first time in a long time, she smiled. Her facial muscles hurt from disuse, but she couldn’t help herself. “You were worried about me?” She’d stolen the term “bat-crap crazy” from him, and it had always made her laugh until she applied it to real life and Gerald.
Ryker’s words touched something deep inside and didn’t let her go. Ryker Redland. Why couldn’t he be the man she was supposed to marry? He was good, solid, and she’d always loved his sense of humor. Even though she’d been driving for over twenty-four hours and had lots of time to think, she’d never imagined her arrival would go like this. Not that she was complaining. No woman she knew would complain about being wrapped up in Ryker Redland’s arms.
“Of course I was worried.” He squeezed her tight again. “I can’t wrap my mind around you being kidnapped. How did you escape? They brought you clear out here and then you escaped, or did you escape and drive all this way in … that?” He glanced at her piece of junk car.
“I wasn’t kidnapped.” Darn Gerald and his politician’s tongue. Of course everyone believed him. It curdled her stomach to think that she’d loved the schmuck. “Gerald’s a pathological liar.”
“What?” He released her and drew back.
A wave of dizziness rushed over Brooke and she swayed, catching herself on the fence. Ryker’s forehead furrowed. He swept her off the ground and into his arms. A good kind of chills raced through her, and her stomach filled with heat. Brooke stared at his nicely formed chest muscles, portrayed so beautifully by his form-fitting T-shirt, and then gazed up into his handsome face. She loved his deep brown eyes and his curly mop of dark hair, currently peeking out of a cowboy hat. Oh, how she loved a man in a cowboy hat.
“You tipsy, sweetheart?” he asked.
Brooke had to laugh at that. “No. I’m exhausted. I drove from Kentucky without any decent stops to sleep.”
Ryker shook his head. His lids lowered, and compassion filled his eyes. “You’ve got some grit, sweetheart.”
Brooke let his words and tone seep into her. Being in his arms was heavenly with a side of craving that had nothing to do with heaven.
“Let’s get you lying down and then we’ll figure everything out.” He strode out of the barn without waiting for an answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck for stability, and he rewarded her with a cheeky grin.
Ryker carried her toward the two-story farmhouse. There hadn’t been any lights on in the house and she’d seen the light in the barn, so she’d headed straight that way when she pulled up.
“Where’s your mom?” she asked. Ryker’s and Harley’s dad had passed away last summer. Harley had married recently and Brooke felt awful that she’d missed the wedding.
“She’s staying with her sister in Billings for a few weeks. Aunt Olivia is fighting breast cancer.” His mouth tightened at the words.
Cancer. That’s what had claimed his dad’s life. Brooke’s heart ached for him. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged as if to say, What do you do? “We need to call the authorities so they can straighten this mess out,” he said.
