The Crown Ranch 1: Missing the Crown Jewels

It was still dark outside when Storm rolled out of bed. Rising early was a habit he’d formed while in the Army and one of the many he couldn’t seem to break in the two years since he’d been out. He slid into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed his cowboy boots. He’d slip those on once he got downstairs so as not to wake everyone with the clunking of his heels on the hardwood floors.

When he got to the kitchen, Coach was already sitting at the counter drinking coffee and skimming the news on his tablet.

“Morning.”

Coach looked up and nodded.

Storm grabbed a mug.

Coach set down the tablet. “She got home kind of late. We need to find out who this guy is and run a check on him.”

Nothing was sacred in the Crown house. Though it was a huge house, everybody knew everybody’s business. But Storm wasn’t complaining; he loved the Crown family. Coach’s father, Robert, took him in as one of his own when he showed up on the man’s doorstep a year ago looking for a job.

The other employees, whether ranch hands or horse trainers that lived on the property, lived in the boarding house. But Storm, being Coach’s Army buddy, scored a room in the family house. He’d even been given his choice of three large rooms, one that had belonged to Coach’s younger brother Blaine or one belonging to his other brother Garrett, or a spare at the end of the hall. He took the spare room so as not to create any hard feelings among the brothers in the event they returned home for any reason, which they tended to do on holidays, and of course, for the Chandlerville birthday celebration and the Kentucky Derby.

Coach looked at his watch. “I’ll call Warner later and get started on that.”

“His name is Spencer Fitzpatrick. Supposedly he’s a developer, or I guess he invests in developments—apartments and stuff. He recently moved to Louisville from Chicago.”

Coach raised a brow. “And you know that already, how?”

Storm took a slug of his coffee. His friend’s gaze stayed on him.

“I texted Warner last night after I got home. That seems to be all he knows other than he showed up at the country club recently with some of the other muckety-mucks from both Louisville and Lexington.”

“Morning,” Peyton sang out.

“You’re up kind of early,” Coach commented.

Storm understood the surprise in Coach’s voice. Peyton got home late last night and wasn’t an early riser even when getting a long night’s rest.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She all but danced to the coffeepot in her pink pajamas spattered with crescent moons. An unstoppable smile covered her face. What had Mr. Fitzpatrick done to put that smile on her face? Storm’s body tensed. He worked to tamp down the raging jealousy whipping through him. He should be happy this kind, lovely woman was finally smiling; yet, he didn’t want her smiling for this reason—for that man.

“Got home kind of late, don’t you think?” Coach questioned.

Peyton’s gaze zoned in on her overprotective brother, and the look she gave him clearly indicated he should back off. The stubborn Crown sibling stare-down filled the room with tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m thirty years old. I think it’s okay for me to stay out past ten o’clock now.” Her sharp tone reminded Storm that she had a tough side to her—a result of growing up with three brothers, he supposed.

“It was after midnight.”

“What’s all this commotion already? Can’t a man sleep in on a Saturday?” Robert questioned as he stepped through the kitchen doorway. His warm smile let everyone know he wasn’t really ticked.

Peyton freed her brother from her irritated gaze, then stepped toward her dad and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Morning, Dad.”

The man’s smile widened. “And how’s my little gem this morning?”

Gem. Her dad was right; she was a gem, a beautiful sparkling jewel. Her smile alone lit up a room, and her lovely, glowing personality filled the atmosphere with warmth—except when giving her brother a ~look to kill~. Both the gentleness and strength of her character added to her alluring charm.

“I’m wonderful. Can’t wait to take our ride today.”

Robert hung his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t today. Something came up, and I need to run to Chandlerville. I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

Peyton’s smile turned to a pout. Smile or pout, it didn’t matter; her full red lips were still appealing—kissable to Storm. In fact, he wouldn’t mind kissing that pout away. But that would never happen. Someone like her deserved more than he could give. He grew up poor on a small dairy farm in Wisconsin. He would never have the means to provide for her in the manner to which she was accustomed and deserved.

Yeah, he was educated and had a bachelor’s degree in Police Science, but even if he ever took a job in that field, he doubted it would pay enough to keep her in the standard of living to which she was accustomed, starting with the membership to the Chandler County Country Club. After his twelve-year stint in the Army, the last thing Storm wanted to do was any sort of confrontational policing activity. At present, he was simply an employee of the Crown Ranch, assistant to Coach, the ranch manager—a mindless, low-interacting job. The horses were quiet and compliant. The Crowns paid him generously for the position, but Peyton deserved more.

“Maybe Storm can go with you,” Robert suggested.

Storm choked on his coffee.

All gazes flew to him.

“Went down the wrong pipe.” Why didn’t he suggest Coach go?

Peyton looked at her dad with an expression on her face indicating he’d completely lost his mind. Was she that repulsed by the idea they ride together? Or did she think her dad thought her incapable of riding by herself, which would be odd because she often rode alone?

“I’ve been riding horses since before I could walk. I think I’m perfectly capable of riding our trails by myself.”

Good, her reaction was based on her independence being at stake, not repulsion for him.

Storm could see the wheels turning in Robert’s head. What lame excuse was he going to give his daughter to convince her that she shouldn’t be alone? He certainly wasn’t going to tell her the truth about the threats against the family, especially since he’d worked so hard to keep them a secret from her for the past several weeks. Robert had told Storm that he didn’t want to worry his daughter, but he also felt the messages being sent this year seemed more serious than those of past years. The competitiveness surrounding the Kentucky Derby was second to none.

After some thought, Storm wasn’t surprised Robert volunteered him to go along with Peyton, rather than her brother, since Coach would be joining him on his trip to Chandlerville to see Detective Jorgenson. Jorgenson oversaw the investigation regarding the threats made against the Crown family, or their horse, Prince Bourbonville, a contender for the Derby and Triple Crown hopeful. Prince Bourbonville was the fastest horse recorded in generations on the ranch.

“It’s no problem, sir. I can go. I could use a ride today,” Storm piped in, thinking he was helping Robert even though he knew Peyton wouldn’t like it. She had this beef already about her overprotective brothers; she didn’t need an overprotective outsider thrown into the mix as well.

She scowled at him, but at least she made eye contact. Sweet.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What? I could use a ride is all.”

“You could go separately, but that would be kind of foolish. Besides, what’s wrong with riding with Storm? I know he’s not a great rider, but jeez,” Coach chimed in with a tinge of guilt-tripping in his tone.

“There’s nothing wrong with riding with Storm…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

They were talking about him as if he weren’t in the room. Did they forget he was standing right here? Storm cleared his throat.

Peyton swung her skeptical gaze between her brother and dad before it landed on him. It seemed to soften. “Shall we go right after breakfast?”

Storm nodded.

* * *

Peyton ate quietly with the overabundance of overprotective men in the kitchen. Even her dad was unusually quiet. Something was up, and it ticked her off they weren’t telling her what it was. Even Storm seemed to know, and he wasn’t even family. Guilt sifted through her. Mason Starr, a.k.a. Storm, was family, her brother’s best friend who’d served tours in Iraq and Afghanistan with him, and who knows where else they served they hadn’t spoken about. Pride swept through her. She was so proud of both for their service. In her whole life, she’d probably never do anything as meaningful.

Peyton rinsed her plate and set it on the counter. “I’ll be ready to go in an hour if that’s okay?” she asked Storm without as much as a glance in his direction. She wondered if he knew she intentionally avoided looking him in the eye. But she just couldn’t do it. On the rare occasion she made eye contact with him, he made her feel weak and helpless. From his very first glance, he looked at her like she was a wounded puppy. She guessed that was a direct result of her brother informing him of her big fat failure of a marriage and that she was stupid enough to marry a man who didn’t love her and only married her for her family’s money. She’d been made a fool and was the talk of the county. How could I have been so stupid?

It was almost three years since the divorce was final and she was still on the receiving end of the stares from people. She wasn’t sure which she hated most, the sympathetic stares she received for being taken advantage of or the stares accompanied by the headshake that indicated she was a stupid fool for being conned.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in the barn,” Storm replied.

Peyton slipped into a pair of jeans, a lightweight plaid shirt over a tank top, and her riding boots. She grabbed her favorite dark brown cowboy hat accented with some bling around the edge and set off for the barn to saddle up Diamond, the horse she’d been riding since she was fifteen years old.

If she were a betting woman, she’d bet that Storm would saddle up old Sassy Girl for himself. It struck her as odd that he gravitated to Sassy, whose name didn’t suit her at all. She was a good girl, mellow and easy to ride, even for a stranger. The sweet, old horse was in her mid-twenties. The strong, buff, ex-military man had his pick of many horses, young stallions or geldings who’d race the wind, but he usually opted for old Sassy Girl.

When Peyton got to the barn, she found Diamond already saddled up and ready to go. Anger coiled in her stomach. Of course, he didn’t think she was capable of saddling her own horse. In his eyes, she was helpless. She stomped toward Sassy Girl’s stall, her heels pounding against the cement, the thuds echoing in the barn. She was going to let him know, once and for all, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, saddling her own horse, and riding alone.

As she reached the gate, his soft voice, barely a whisper, on the other side caught her attention. Who was he speaking to in such a heartwarming tone? Peeking through the gap between the frame and the gate, she watched Storm as he talked to Sassy Girl.

The rough, tough military man stood in front of the old horse, stroking her forehead down to her muzzle. “Why did they name you Sassy? You’re not sassy at all; you’re a good girl, aren’t ya? Just a sweet old gal.”

Storm stopped petting her, and she nudged him to continue. He reached forward and rubbed the sides of her long forehead. “Need some more loving, do ya?” he asked before he leaned forward and kissed her just above her muzzle.

Peyton’s heart fluttered. How could she stay mad at a man who’d kiss a horse?

Sassy looked at him with swooning eyes, and he gave her another peck. In that instant, Peyton wished to be that horse. She wished to be kissed by Storm’s lips, touched by his hands, surrounded by his love.

“All right, sweet thing. It’s time to take our ride. We’ll stop and rest by that spot you like by the creek. That’s if Peyton and Diamond don’t mind.”

Peyton often stopped by the creek, the section with the little waterfall. Her reflection spot, she called it. She did her best thinking there. I wonder where he stops.

Storm made a move for the gate, and Peyton quickly retreated, nearly tripping over her own feet. By the time he and Sassy stepped through the opening, Peyton had Diamond’s rein gripped in her hand and was walking toward Storm and Sassy.

“Thanks for getting her ready, but you know, I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” Even after all the sweetness she’d just witnessed, she still felt the urge to let him know she wasn’t helpless and in need of being taken care of. She only wished her tone hadn’t been quite so snippy. But she’d had her fill of people’s perception that she was broken, especially that of family who treated her like she was a weak, wounded puppy who couldn’t take care of herself. They were constantly stepping in and doing stuff for her she’d always done for herself, like driving the truck and horse trailer to a trailhead. She’d done that hundreds of times in the past, but now they insisted upon doing that for her like she’d suddenly become incapable of that task. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Their constant hovering and looking over her shoulder when she talked to people, especially strangers, really torqued her. One bad judgment call of one person and suddenly they thought she couldn’t be trusted to accurately assess another person’s qualities.

Storm’s gaze grabbed hold of hers. She tried to pull away but couldn’t.

“I know you can. I just wanted to do it for you.”

He kept looking at her with those dark eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. This was the longest she’d ever made eye contact with him, and she began to like it rather than fear it. Fear it in the sense that she was afraid to look at any man because making eye contact with a guy could lead to getting close to him, which could lead to misjudging him and being taken for a fool again—just like what had happened with her ex-husband.

Storm unlocked her from his gaze and mounted Sassy, and then she hopped up on Diamond, and they set out.

They rode in silence, but that didn’t surprise her. Storm wasn’t a talkative man. He usually didn’t string two words together for anyone except when talking with her brother. The quiet time gave her an opportunity to do some soul-searching—think about her life and drill down and evaluate herself. She was good at her job as the operations manager for the Crown Credit Union her dad and grandfather started in 1979, so she had that going for her. With her Master’s degree in Business, she was completely qualified for the position; yet, it had taken her a while to prove herself to the members, demonstrating that she hadn’t landed the job solely because of her dad.

Now, she just needed to work on her self-esteem issues regarding her social life. At least she recognized she had issues. That had to be a good thing.

Her gaze drifted to the man on the horse in front of her. Why couldn’t she have some of his confidence—or her brother’s? They seemed to have enough to go around.

They rode out of the field and into the woods. The spring air had the leaves budding in full force, and the earthy fragrance reminded her that it had rained the day before. They climbed the damp path up the hill, crossed over the narrow, covered wooden bridge located high above a slender river that snaked through her dad’s property.

They started up the second hill where the terrain turned from full, lush green vegetation to thinning hardwoods with rocky formations. When they got to the creek, Storm halted Sassy Girl in the same spot she often stopped to reflect.

Storm glanced over his shoulder. “I’d like to stop a bit and give ol’ Sassy here a break.”

“Sure, no problem.”

He dismounted.

Sassy leaned forward and slurped some water.

Storm stepped from rock to rock until he was in the middle of the little creek, then he shot a glance in her direction. “The view is great from here.”

Peyton nodded. He was right. She’d viewed the falls from that vantage point many times.

The man stood, admiring the small waterfall that lay about fifteen yards or so up the creek. The water cascaded down the rocky steps toward them. The drop was about seven feet or so, not much more than Storm’s height, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

When he was finished looking at the waterfall, Storm leaped back to the bank and sat on a big, flat rock abutting the cliff—her rock. That’s where she normally sat to get lost in the mesmerizing view and sound of the soothing, running water.

He patted the spot next to him. “Let’s just sit and relax for a bit.”

Why, suddenly, after living under the same roof with this man, was she hesitant about sitting next to him? She’d done it plenty of times in the past—at the dinner table, in the living room. Why now was apprehension snaking through her?

His dark gaze was like a magnet, drawing her to him.

Peyton slid off Diamond, walked over to Storm, and took a seat on the sun-warmed rock. Though it was a nice spring morning, the breeze was a bit cool. The heat from the rock felt good. But the heat from Storm’s body was tantalizing.

Storm pulled his black cowboy hat from his head and hung it on his knee; then he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Peyton ran her gaze over him. He’d changed some since he first showed up a year ago. He’d grown out his flattop but kept his hair trimmed short, buzzed up over his ears but a little longer on the top. And he’d grown a short, neatly trimmed beard that covered the small scar on the right side of his chin. But the beard did nothing to hide the diagonal scar located high on his right cheekbone. She often wondered where those came from. Battle scars? Did he fall off his bike when he was a kid? He was such a private man; she would never dare ask.

Her fingers itched to trace that scar, feel the indentation against her fingertip, feel his skin against hers. Someday, maybe. If ever she were ready to trust a man again, maybe he’d be worth trusting. Who was she kidding? A handsome, confident man like him would want someone more exciting and self-assured than her. Someone he wouldn’t feel he’d have to take care of and protect. Damn her insecurities.

His breaths grew shallow and even. She pulled her gaze from his scar and lifted it to his eyes. The man does sleep. In the entire year he’d lived with her family, he always seemed to be the last one to bed and the first one to rise. In fact, sometimes she’d hear him in the middle of the night, pacing his room, the halls, and the stairs. She’d begun to think the man never slept. Coach seemed to go through the same thing when he first returned home from the Army, and for him, it was all a part of his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. With help, Coach worked his way through most of it, but even after two years, her brother still fought against some of his symptoms—fought for normalcy.

Peyton eyed the black cowboy hat on Storm’s knee. The man looked sexy as sin in that hat. Hell, he looked sexy as sin without it too. Her gaze drifted to his thighs, his thick, powerful thighs stretching the fabric of his jeans. She imagined those muscles were as hard as the rock she sat on. She fought the urge to find out. Her eyes continued on the path of his body, and her cheeks heated when she dared to imagine the potential that lay beneath his zipper. Her brain begged her eyes to move, but they lingered while her imagination played havoc on her senses.

Storm shifted slightly, and her gaze flew from his zipper to his face. Relief zinged through her veins when she found his eyes still shut. She wasn’t done indulging herself in the pleasure of soaking up this man’s perfect, lean body with her curious eyes.

Focusing on his thick shoulders and chest, she wondered what he looked like without a shirt. No doubt, his abs would be ripped. Would his chest have hair? If she were a betting woman, she’d bet it did, but not too much. Probably a few sprinkles on his chest with one of those descending lines leading toward—she needed to stop thinking about that.

Without conscious thought, Peyton’s gaze returned to the scar on Storm’s cheek. Reaching up, she touched her finger to it, tracing its length. Storm’s eyes popped open. He snatched up her hand and sprang to his feet, pulling her up as well. Terror ripped through his eyes. His gaze darted around her, beyond her. Searching. Intense. Confused. It was as if for a brief moment, he didn’t even know where he was or who he was with.

Pain shot through her hand, but fear of mentioning it and interrupting his thought process froze her words in her mouth. Or would it be better to say or do something to snap him out of his trance—his flashback-like reaction?

His chest rose and fell with quick breaths, then slowed.

“Storm, my hand.”

His eyes shifted to their joined hands, and his fingers sprang open, giving her instant relief. Instead of releasing her hand like she thought he might, he massaged it instead.

His head hung. “I’m so sorry. I… Are you okay?” He swallowed audibly. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice cracked. He drew in a long breath and expelled it; then he released her hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not fit to be around normal people.” His voice trailed off to a whisper.

Without so much as a glance at her, he turned away and headed toward Sassy Girl.

Her heart nearly cracked in half at his words and the pain in his tone. How could he possibly say and believe such a thing? He was kind and caring. For God’s sake, she’d seen him kiss a horse.

“Wait!”

He halted but didn’t face her. As she stepped in front of him, the remorse in his gaze broke her heart again. She reached up to touch his face, but he caught her hand; only this time his hold was gentle. If she hadn’t caught him off guard in his sleep, he never would have gripped her hand the way he did. This was her fault. She should have known better than to sneak up on a soldier like that.

“I can’t.”

Ignoring his words, she reached up with her other hand, and he snatched that one up as well.

“I’m sorry, Peyton, but I just can’t. You deserve better.” He released her hands, turned away, and hopped back up on Sassy Girl.

“I deserve better? What are you talking about?”

He glanced over his shoulder barely long enough to catch her gaze. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

He moved Sassy forward, cutting off any further discussion.

His rejection—the words he spoke stung—but she found promise in the fact they didn’t match the want and desire in his eyes. Truth be told, she was still apprehensive about men—relationships. But the loneliness in her heart urged her to move forward.

Another time, Storm. Soon.