Read Online Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) by P. J. O'Dwyer - Free Book Online
Authors: P. J. O'Dwyer
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The air popped from her lungs and she struggled to breathe.
Strong arms held her in place. "Don't move," the stranger ordered in a deep male voice she didn't recognize.
Bren looked up. The broodmare snorted and kicked after being cornered by one of Lyle's men. Another pulled on its rope, leading the mare out of the chute. A third man snagged the colt's lead, walking him around behind the mare.
Wes still clenched the rail. "Damn fool."
Bren tried to wrestle free to get to Wes, but the arms around her tightened, and her captor whispered against her ear, "Relax, honey."
Bren didn't miss the drawl in his voice.
She squirmed. "I'm not your—"
"You don't need to thank me, darlin'."
He was mocking her, which made her blood run hot. His arms remained wrapped around her waist, his muscular biceps pillowing her breast. Strong, jean-clad legs held her legs between his, and she was on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Get off me!" She pulled hard against his hold.
He opened his hands wide, and she tumbled out of his grasp, her face scant inches from the mix of dirt, straw, and manure on the barn floor.
"Jerk," she mumbled before grabbing the first pair of hands, only to find Robert Connelly hoisting her up. Tall and blond and wearing a well-tailored navy suit, there was no denying the successful accountant he'd become. Too bad for him he'd returned to Clear Spring, leaving the Baltimore firm to run his father's books.
"Hey, Bren." Robert's eyes, a light shade of sympathetic blue, met hers through a pair of gold wire-framed glasses.
Slightly embarrassed by her show of bravado earlier, and the fact it was directed at his father, her cheeks warmed. "Thanks, but I'm the enemy, remember?"
"Don't remind me." He turned her around and dusted her back. "You hurt anywhere?"
She tossed her head back. "No. He took all the shock."
Robert nodded to the stranger.
Him
, she did not recognize. Although something about him, his eyes maybe, looked familiar. Dark, lean, dressed in jeans and a white button-down, shirttails out, he sat on the barn floor, a Stetson lying next to him. His unshaven face and short, dark hair gave him an ill-tempered appearance as he scowled at her through a pair of hooded eyes.
No one had asked for his help. She had everything under control. So if he was expecting her to shower him with gratitude, he could suck wind because it wasn't going to happen.
Robert glared at his father and released her. "What's going on here?" He glanced at Finn. "You bid against a boy for his colt? What the hell is wrong with you?" Robert placed his hands on his hips, pushing the tails of his suit jacket behind his back.
"Lighten up, Robert. I was just having a little fun. The boy has his horse." Wes's usual commanding voice quavered. The only time he ever squirmed was under the penetrating gaze of his son.
The role reversal was one Bren enjoyed.
Having been dictated to as a child, including his choice of friends and those Wes ordered he stay away from, Robert hadn't had much contact with Bren through the years. She'd seen him infrequently over the past several months, to his father's ire. But judging by the interaction of father and son tonight, it was the son's ire Wes should have feared. He stood to lose more than an accountant.
Robert lifted his fine-planed face to Lyle. "What was the final?"
"Thousand fifty."
Robert whistled through his teeth and gave his dad a look of disgust. He turned to Lyle. "What are they worth?" Then he added, "Don't snow me."
Lyle shrugged. "Three."
Robert reached for his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and counted three crisp hundred-dollar bills and gave his dad another look. "You're an ass." He handed Finn the cash.
Finn hesitated.
"It's okay, son," Robert said. "Go ahead and pay the auctioneer."
Robert looked back toward a petite blonde, very pretty, dressed in a light-charcoal designer suit and black heels. Clear Spring was a small town, and news traveled fast. Bren bet
Strong arms held her in place. "Don't move," the stranger ordered in a deep male voice she didn't recognize.
Bren looked up. The broodmare snorted and kicked after being cornered by one of Lyle's men. Another pulled on its rope, leading the mare out of the chute. A third man snagged the colt's lead, walking him around behind the mare.
Wes still clenched the rail. "Damn fool."
Bren tried to wrestle free to get to Wes, but the arms around her tightened, and her captor whispered against her ear, "Relax, honey."
Bren didn't miss the drawl in his voice.
She squirmed. "I'm not your—"
"You don't need to thank me, darlin'."
He was mocking her, which made her blood run hot. His arms remained wrapped around her waist, his muscular biceps pillowing her breast. Strong, jean-clad legs held her legs between his, and she was on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Get off me!" She pulled hard against his hold.
He opened his hands wide, and she tumbled out of his grasp, her face scant inches from the mix of dirt, straw, and manure on the barn floor.
"Jerk," she mumbled before grabbing the first pair of hands, only to find Robert Connelly hoisting her up. Tall and blond and wearing a well-tailored navy suit, there was no denying the successful accountant he'd become. Too bad for him he'd returned to Clear Spring, leaving the Baltimore firm to run his father's books.
"Hey, Bren." Robert's eyes, a light shade of sympathetic blue, met hers through a pair of gold wire-framed glasses.
Slightly embarrassed by her show of bravado earlier, and the fact it was directed at his father, her cheeks warmed. "Thanks, but I'm the enemy, remember?"
"Don't remind me." He turned her around and dusted her back. "You hurt anywhere?"
She tossed her head back. "No. He took all the shock."
Robert nodded to the stranger.
Him
, she did not recognize. Although something about him, his eyes maybe, looked familiar. Dark, lean, dressed in jeans and a white button-down, shirttails out, he sat on the barn floor, a Stetson lying next to him. His unshaven face and short, dark hair gave him an ill-tempered appearance as he scowled at her through a pair of hooded eyes.
No one had asked for his help. She had everything under control. So if he was expecting her to shower him with gratitude, he could suck wind because it wasn't going to happen.
Robert glared at his father and released her. "What's going on here?" He glanced at Finn. "You bid against a boy for his colt? What the hell is wrong with you?" Robert placed his hands on his hips, pushing the tails of his suit jacket behind his back.
"Lighten up, Robert. I was just having a little fun. The boy has his horse." Wes's usual commanding voice quavered. The only time he ever squirmed was under the penetrating gaze of his son.
The role reversal was one Bren enjoyed.
Having been dictated to as a child, including his choice of friends and those Wes ordered he stay away from, Robert hadn't had much contact with Bren through the years. She'd seen him infrequently over the past several months, to his father's ire. But judging by the interaction of father and son tonight, it was the son's ire Wes should have feared. He stood to lose more than an accountant.
Robert lifted his fine-planed face to Lyle. "What was the final?"
"Thousand fifty."
Robert whistled through his teeth and gave his dad a look of disgust. He turned to Lyle. "What are they worth?" Then he added, "Don't snow me."
Lyle shrugged. "Three."
Robert reached for his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and counted three crisp hundred-dollar bills and gave his dad another look. "You're an ass." He handed Finn the cash.
Finn hesitated.
"It's okay, son," Robert said. "Go ahead and pay the auctioneer."
Robert looked back toward a petite blonde, very pretty, dressed in a light-charcoal designer suit and black heels. Clear Spring was a small town, and news traveled fast. Bren bet
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