Ryder (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers Book 1) Page 3

  It was difficult to imagine such an imposing presence leaving the earth. John Westbrook was turning ninety-five next Tuesday, and while he didn't move as fast as he once did, he was still as mentally sharp as ever, and his blunt words could cut as deep as any knife. Not that John tried to hurt people; he just liked to tell the truth—at least whatever he considered to be the truth—whether they wanted to hear it or not.

  As Ryder pulled into the horseshoe-shaped drive in front of the grand home, he couldn't help thinking how ostentatious it was. But that was the Westbrook way. They had the money to have the best, so they had the best. For all intents and purposes, they were considered the first family of Eagle's Ridge: loved by some, hated by others, but rarely thought of with indifference.

  He'd forgotten what it meant to have his last name define him. Growing up in Eagle's Ridge with so many expectations, he'd been happy to leave it all behind when he joined the Navy.

  But now he was back, and he was going to have to find a way to be himself and also a Westbrook.

  He parked his Jeep and went up to the front door to ring the bell. No one had given him a key, and he doubted that was an act of omission. They'd never been the kind of family to have an open door.

  A Filipino woman named Leticia greeted him with a smile. In her late sixties now, Leticia had been working for his grandfather for about forty years. She'd moved into the house as a full-time housekeeper about twelve years ago after she and her husband had divorced and her daughter had gone off to college.

  She gave him a happy smile and a hug. "Ryder, how lovely to see you."

  "You too," he said, stepping into the house. "Is anyone home?"

  "Your grandfather is in the den watching his war movies. Your mother is out to dinner with friends, and your father is away for the weekend."

  He wasn't surprised to hear that. His father seemed to spend a lot of time away from Eagle's Ridge these days.

  "Can I get you something to eat or drink?" she asked.

  "A beer would be great."

  "I'll bring it into the den."

  "Thanks." He walked across the foyer and down the hall, entering the wood-paneled den with its large, brown leather couches, stone fireplace, and massive television screen.

  His grandfather, John Westbrook, sat in the middle of the couch, wearing black slacks and a dark-green sweater, his reading glasses sliding down his nose as he glanced up from the book he was reading while watching one of his favorite World War II movies, The Bridge on the River Kwai.

  "Grandfather," he said, taking a seat in the adjacent armchair. "How are you?"

  "Fine." John gave him a suspicious look. "What are you doing here, Ryder? Your mother is out with her girlfriends, and your father is in Seattle."

  "I heard. I thought I'd spend some time with you. We haven't had a chance to talk since I got back."

  "You've been busy at the airfield. David says you want to take over management of the airport since his son Greg is retiring."

  "That's the plan."

  "And you want to expand the runway with Tucker land," he said, his lips curling with distaste. "That won't happen."

  He probably should have figured that David would tell his grandfather his plans. He hadn't only forgotten what it meant to be a Westbrook; he'd also forgotten how quickly news traveled. "A longer runway would bring in bigger planes, more tourism, and would benefit everyone in town."

  "You think Max Tucker cares about what's good for this town? He only cares about himself."

  "His son and his grandsons own businesses here."

  "That doesn't matter. Tucker will never sell you his land. He's as stubborn as the day is long. If you'd asked me, I would have told you that, not that you shouldn't have known it already," John said pointedly.

  He thought his grandfather could probably give Max Tucker a run for his money in the stubborn department.

  "I can't believe David didn't tell you not to bark up that old tree," John continued. "But then David doesn't like to pick sides. He's neutral. He's Switzerland." John shook his head in disgust. "Not picking a side is the coward's way out."

  "Aren't you tired of being so angry at someone who was once one of your best friends?" he asked.

  His grandfather's eyes widened. "My best friend? I can barely remember when that was true. What I do recall is that Max Tucker betrayed me."

  He knew he was about to poke the bear, but he couldn't stop himself. "How exactly did Max do that? I thought you won some of his land in a poker game, and that he was drunk at the time."

  "He wasn't that drunk, and that's not when he betrayed me. It was before that. He tried to steal my girl."

  "Grandmother?" he asked in surprise.

  "Yes. He made a play for Veronica right under my nose. She turned him down, and then he got ass-backward drunk and bet me his land. He said he couldn't lose. Well, he did lose—the game and the girl."

  "I never heard that before."

  "There's a lot you don't know. It was never just about the land."

  He was starting to realize that. "Okay, so, you came out on top. You got the better tracts of land that were easier to develop, and you got Grandma. It seems like you won. Why keep this feud going?"

  "He's the one who keeps it going. He's always badmouthing me around town. He takes every opportunity he can to turn people against me. And there have been other incidents over the years. Your father and Tucker's kid, Sam, had some run-ins, too."

  "Like what?"

  "Ask your dad. He'll tell you."

  "Why don't you tell me?"

  "Because it upsets me to discuss it."

  He didn't think his grandfather looked upset at all. In fact, there was energy in his eyes. Maybe it was anger, but it was something.

  "You only care about this feud now because you want something," John continued.

  His grandfather had a point. "That's true. But what I want will be good for the entire town, not just our side of the river. It's time for us all to come together. I want to end the feud. I want us to have one Founders' Day weekend for all the founders, instead of one day for you and then the next day for everyone else. It's ridiculous."

  Now there was no doubting the flames of fury in his grandfather's eyes. "It's not ridiculous. It's about honor, pride, our family name. And it's tradition. People are used to it. I was the first mayor of Eagle's Ridge."

  "Being used to something doesn't make it right."

  John's gaze narrowed. "What are you asking me to do, Ryder?"

  "I don't know—extend an olive branch," he said tentatively. "Or let me do it. Let me tell Max Tucker that you want to end the decades of anger."

  John immediately shook his head, disbelief at the suggestion. "That will never happen. I've never done anything wrong. And I will not apologize to that man. Never. Do you hear me, or do I need to say it again?"

  His grandfather was practically shouting, and his face was turning dark red.

  "What's going on in here?" Leticia asked worriedly, entering the room with his beer.

  "Nothing. Ryder is leaving," his grandfather said. "He can take that beer to go."

  "I'm sorry I upset you." He got to his feet. "And I won't need that beer after all, Leticia."

  "All right," she said, not looking too happy about his answer, but she made a quick exit.

  He turned his gaze back to his grandfather. "I'll see you another time."

  "If you want to expand the runway, build a second one somewhere else, somewhere that doesn't touch Tucker land," his grandfather said. "You don't need the Tuckers to be successful. The Westbrooks make their own way."

  He could have pointed out that he'd already looked at all other options, but his grandfather wasn't in the mood for a longer discussion and he didn't want to do anything to cause him physical distress. "I'll think about it." He walked to the door, then paused, glancing over his shoulder

  His grandfather had already picked up his book, having probably already forgotten their discussion.

 
He felt an odd wistfulness that seemed to accompany most conversations he had with his family. He kept wanting there to be something more between them, some feeling of happiness or satisfaction after a good talk, but he always felt…empty.

  And it wasn't just with his grandfather that that happened; it was with his mother and father, too. They might look like the beautiful family who had everything on the outside, but inside there was a lot of nothing.

  He'd come home, because there was a part of him that wanted to find a way to bring them together. At the moment, he seemed to be driving them further apart.

  Three

  Stepping into the No Man's Land diner just after nine on Thursday morning felt like another homecoming. Bailey looked around the restaurant that had been started by her father thirty years ago, and where just about every Tucker had worked at one time or another. This diner was actually a spin-off of the restaurant her grandfather had first started on their side of the river in the early fifties.

  When her father, Sam Tucker, had taken control, he had moved the business to the bridge and given it a new name, wanting to put the diner in a neutral location, a place that would welcome customers from both sides of the river.

  All residents of Eagle's Ridge were welcome in the rustic restaurant, which boasted a mix of wood-paneled walls and exposed brick, with scarred flooring and windows that overlooked the river. There were still watercolors and oil paintings on display from local artists as well as a sign on one wall that still said No Fighting…as if the residents needed a reminder that No Man's Land was a fight-free, feud-free zone.

  This morning, the booths that ran around one wall were full, as well as most of the wooden tables in the center of the room and the ten seats at the counter. Breakfast was always one of their most popular meals.

  A young, teenaged waitress was taking orders at one table, while a teenaged-male filled coffee cups at another. Behind the counter was Brenda Morgan, a middle-aged, attractive brunette with soft green eyes. Brenda managed the front of the house while Sam Tucker ran the kitchen with the help of two other part-time cooks.

  Brenda had been one of her mother's best friends. After her mom had left town to fulfill her own dreams, Brenda had stepped in as a second mom to Bailey, and right now, seeing Brenda's warm green eyes, she almost felt like crying.

  She hadn't shed one tear since her life fell apart; she was holding them in, because she had the terrible feeling that once she started crying, she'd never stop.

  "Bailey!" Brenda came around the counter with open arms.

  She practically ran into Brenda's embrace, hugging her tight.

  "Goodness, it is great to see you," Brenda said, as they broke apart. "Your dad said you came home yesterday, but he didn't say why."

  Her father, Sam Tucker, came through the kitchen door in time to say, "She didn't tell me why."

  "Did you even ask?" Brenda inquired.

  Her father gave her a knowing smile. "Bailey always talks in her own time. There's no getting it out of her until she's ready." He paused. "How about some chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream? Those always used to make you smile."

  "When I was seven," she replied.

  He groaned. "So, now I suppose you want an egg-white omelet filled with spinach with fruit on the side."

  "That sounds perfect. But I also want the chocolate chip pancakes with a big spoonful of whipped cream, too."

  "Good, because I've got a batch waiting for you. Coming right up."

  As her dad went into the kitchen, she slid into a seat at the counter closest to the cash register.

  Brenda poured her a cup of coffee and set it in front of her. "You want some sugar for this, too?"

  "I'll save my sugar for the pancakes." She sipped the coffee with genuine appreciation. "Tastes as good as ever. How are you, Brenda?"

  "I'm good. Busy as always. What about you?" Brenda's sharp gaze swept her face. "You look tired and stressed. Something is wrong. I told your father that. I said there's no way Bailey just came home for a visit, not in the middle of opening a new restaurant with that handsome celebrity chef."

  She licked her lips, not sure how much of her bad news had spread all the way to Eagle's Ridge. "I'm all right. I missed home. I needed a break." She paused, knowing Brenda wouldn't be satisfied with that vague of an answer. "The restaurant didn't work out, and neither did the relationship."

  "Oh, honey, I'm sorry."

  She sipped her coffee. "I can't talk about it right now."

  "I understand. I'm glad you came home. It's the best place to be when you're hurting."

  She cleared her throat, not wanting to think about all the hurt. "What's new around here?"

  "Not much. Your father isn't big on change."

  "You don't have to tell me that."

  Brenda smiled. "No, I don't. Your brothers are working hard on their business, and with all the rain we've been having this winter, the river is still rising every day."

  "That should make for some good river trips in the spring and summer," she said, happy that the adventure watersports business her brothers Adam and Zane were running would probably see a boom in business in the next few months. "It's nice to have them out of danger."

  "I'll say," Brenda agreed. "Your dad never likes to show his emotions, but he worried a lot with the three of you gone—your brothers in danger zones, you halfway across the world."

  "He didn't have to worry about me. I wasn't jumping into raging waters like Adam did while working for the Coast Guard or dodging enemy fire like Zane did with the Army."

  "No, but you're his baby, and you were a long way from home. It's nice to have all three of you back home again."

  "I'm not going to be here forever. This is just a visit."

  "I know. Your dreams have always been bigger than Eagle's Ridge, but it's still good to see your pretty face. Now, I better get back to work."

  As Brenda stepped away to help a customer, the door to the diner opened, and Bailey's heart leapt against her chest as Ryder Westbrook walked in. In the shadowy darkness of the night before, she hadn't gotten the perfect look at him, and she'd spent most of the night telling herself he was not that attractive. But she was wrong. He was definitely that attractive, and more.

  Dressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved, dark-blue T-shirt that clung to his broad, muscular chest, her mouth went dry. Little shivers ran down her spine when his gaze settled on her, and a gleam entered his eyes.

  There had been a time in her life when she would have died to have Ryder Westbrook look at her like that. As much as she hated his last name, he'd always been one of the most attractive guys in town.

  But that was not this time.

  She turned back to her coffee cup, hoping he wouldn't come over, but that was a futile thought.

  A moment later, he settled into the seat next to hers.

  "Morning, Bailey."

  "Morning," she murmured, trying not to look at him and hoping her food would appear very soon so she would have something else to focus on.

  "Have you thought any more about what we discussed?" he asked.

  His words finally forced her gaze to his. "No. I told you there's nothing to be done. My grandfather will never be convinced to sell his land to you. You should let it go."

  "I can't let it go. When I want something, I keep after it until I get it."

  She couldn't help wondering what it would feel like to be the object of that kind of intense desire. But Ryder wasn't talking about her; he was talking about land—Tucker land.

  She broke the connection between them and took another sip of her coffee, then said, "It's your time to waste."

  "It is. I did speak to my grandfather yesterday. He was no more excited about my idea than you were."

  "Big surprise."

  "He said the feud isn't just about land. That he and your grandfather fought over my grandmother, Veronica."

  "Yes. John stole Veronica from my grandpa, and then he took his land. That's what made the betra
yal so personal."

  "Your grandfather lost the land in a poker game, because he was drunk and he made a bad bet."

  "Well, he was drunk, because your grandfather stole the woman he loved. And then he took advantage of his sad state to swindle him out of his land." She could hear her grandfather's voice in her head as she said the same words he'd said so many times.

  Ryder, however, didn't look convinced by her argument.

  "Obviously, there are two sides," he said. "But I'm guessing that after sixty something years, the story has changed a bit. I doubt anyone really remembers exactly what went down."

  She wasn't so sure about that. "Grandpa's short-term memory may waver, but he can tell you exactly what happened sixty-five years ago. He hasn't forgotten a thing."

  Ryder let out a sigh. "Your grandfather got married. He had a kid, grandkids, and has lived a good, long life. Don't you think he could find it in his heart to look at what happened a bit differently?"

  "You just told me your grandfather couldn't. Why should mine be any different?"

  "Good point," he conceded.

  "And it's not just John Westbrook my grandfather can't forgive; it's himself. He has always felt guilty for losing land that could have provided more wealth and better opportunities for the family. It's a deep pain inside of him. He's as harsh a judge of himself as he is of others."

  "I get it, Bailey, but you see that a bigger airport could benefit this town, don't you? We need tourism dollars—for this diner, for your brothers' business, for everyone here—on both sides of the river."

  "I don't disagree. I just don't think you'll be able to use Tucker land. But if you want to talk to my grandfather, go for it."

  "I will talk to him, but you've made me realize I need a better strategy. Maybe you could talk to him before I do, feel him out."

  "I really don't want to get involved. I have a lot of my own problems right now."

  "At least tell me more about him—help me come up with a plan, give me some tips."

  "I don't know how long I'm going to be around."

  "Probably until the publicity dies down, right?" he said.

  She let out a small gasp, her eyes widening as she realized he knew what had happened in New York. "What do you know?"