Read Online Matt—The Callahan Brothers (Brazos Bend Book 2) by Emily March - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily March
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Superspy, here, could have found just a scintilla of compassion in that cold, arrogant heart of his and spared me a moment of his precious time. What I need, sir, is for every man on God’s green earth to disappear. Disintegrate. Vaporize. Maybe then poor Gigi finally would be safe!”
“Who’s Gigi?”
“This is Gigi.” She cuddled her dog closer. “He put her in the oven! She could have died. What if she’d fallen asleep in there? She sleeps deeply. I brought home chocolate chip cookie dough. I could have preheated the oven!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Matt snapped.
“Now you want to know, hmm?” Blood coursed through Torie’s veins wild and hot. “Now you’re ready to listen? Because I shot your pretty truck? Well, let’s make sure you listen good.” She shot out his other headlight.
“Dammit, woman!” Matt shouted. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter. It’s nasty emails, hang-up calls, and ugly letters. It’s the sense of being followed every time I step out my front door. It’s finding pictures of me on my refrigerator door. It’s finding Gigi muzzled and in the oven!”
The sentence hung in the air for a long moment until the gray-haired man with Callahan said, “Now, that’s just wrong.”
Matt scowled and concluded, “You’re being stalked.”
“Yes!”
“So now you know what it feels like,” he observed, his lip curling with a sneer.
Torie let out a screech of frustration and eyed the truck again. The older man said, “Uh, Matt? You might want to motor back on the attitude.” Then he offered Torie a hesitant smile. “Ms., um ...”
Torie and Matt shouted simultaneously, “Bradshaw!”
“Ms. Bradshaw.” The man moved cautiously from behind the golf cart, his gaze flicking from her face to the gun, which remained aimed at the pickup. “My name is Les Warfield, and I own a stake of Four Brothers Vineyard. Obviously we have a problem here, and I’m happy to help solve it. It’d be helpful if you’d lower the firearm and give me a little more information.”
Torie kept the gun trained on the truck. “The problem, Mr. Warfield, is that I’m frightened and frustrated and at the end of my rope. No one believes me. Not the police, not my father. But I’m in trouble and I need help, and silly me, I thought your partner might provide it.”
A storm of tears welled up inside Torie, but she battled them back. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t give him that pleasure.
Matt cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the golf cart, his palms up. “Please put the gun down, Victoria. Les here has a weak heart. Gunshots tend to screw up his pacemaker.”
Les patted the left side of his chest with his right hand and offered her an apologetic grin. “He’s telling the truth about that. The ol’ ticker doesn’t do well with a lot of excitement.”
Matt took a step closer. “I’ll listen to you. I give you my word.”
Torie nibbled at her bottom lip. She was tired. She was scared. The last thing she needed was for Les Warfield to drop dead because of her. Was he looking a bit gray? Oh, dear. She slowly lowered the gun.
Fast as a striking snake, Matt covered the distance between them and stripped the weapon from her hand. Gigi, bless her heart, lunged and bit the fingers clutching Torie’s arm.
“Hey!” He yanked his hand away.
“Good dog,” Torie praised.
Man and dog glared at each other, the lips of both curling.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Les grumbled. “I could use a glass of sweet tea. You want to come inside, Ms. Bradshaw?”
“Thank you.”
“Hold on just one minute,” Matt protested as he released the magazine and dropped it in his pocket. He scowled at the gun and clicked on the safety. “Pink. Seriously?”
After tucking the firearm in his waistband at the small of his back, he continued. “She shows up here uninvited, takes potshots at my truck, and you want to treat
“Who’s Gigi?”
“This is Gigi.” She cuddled her dog closer. “He put her in the oven! She could have died. What if she’d fallen asleep in there? She sleeps deeply. I brought home chocolate chip cookie dough. I could have preheated the oven!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Matt snapped.
“Now you want to know, hmm?” Blood coursed through Torie’s veins wild and hot. “Now you’re ready to listen? Because I shot your pretty truck? Well, let’s make sure you listen good.” She shot out his other headlight.
“Dammit, woman!” Matt shouted. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter. It’s nasty emails, hang-up calls, and ugly letters. It’s the sense of being followed every time I step out my front door. It’s finding pictures of me on my refrigerator door. It’s finding Gigi muzzled and in the oven!”
The sentence hung in the air for a long moment until the gray-haired man with Callahan said, “Now, that’s just wrong.”
Matt scowled and concluded, “You’re being stalked.”
“Yes!”
“So now you know what it feels like,” he observed, his lip curling with a sneer.
Torie let out a screech of frustration and eyed the truck again. The older man said, “Uh, Matt? You might want to motor back on the attitude.” Then he offered Torie a hesitant smile. “Ms., um ...”
Torie and Matt shouted simultaneously, “Bradshaw!”
“Ms. Bradshaw.” The man moved cautiously from behind the golf cart, his gaze flicking from her face to the gun, which remained aimed at the pickup. “My name is Les Warfield, and I own a stake of Four Brothers Vineyard. Obviously we have a problem here, and I’m happy to help solve it. It’d be helpful if you’d lower the firearm and give me a little more information.”
Torie kept the gun trained on the truck. “The problem, Mr. Warfield, is that I’m frightened and frustrated and at the end of my rope. No one believes me. Not the police, not my father. But I’m in trouble and I need help, and silly me, I thought your partner might provide it.”
A storm of tears welled up inside Torie, but she battled them back. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t give him that pleasure.
Matt cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the golf cart, his palms up. “Please put the gun down, Victoria. Les here has a weak heart. Gunshots tend to screw up his pacemaker.”
Les patted the left side of his chest with his right hand and offered her an apologetic grin. “He’s telling the truth about that. The ol’ ticker doesn’t do well with a lot of excitement.”
Matt took a step closer. “I’ll listen to you. I give you my word.”
Torie nibbled at her bottom lip. She was tired. She was scared. The last thing she needed was for Les Warfield to drop dead because of her. Was he looking a bit gray? Oh, dear. She slowly lowered the gun.
Fast as a striking snake, Matt covered the distance between them and stripped the weapon from her hand. Gigi, bless her heart, lunged and bit the fingers clutching Torie’s arm.
“Hey!” He yanked his hand away.
“Good dog,” Torie praised.
Man and dog glared at each other, the lips of both curling.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Les grumbled. “I could use a glass of sweet tea. You want to come inside, Ms. Bradshaw?”
“Thank you.”
“Hold on just one minute,” Matt protested as he released the magazine and dropped it in his pocket. He scowled at the gun and clicked on the safety. “Pink. Seriously?”
After tucking the firearm in his waistband at the small of his back, he continued. “She shows up here uninvited, takes potshots at my truck, and you want to treat
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