The Brazen: Calamity Montana - Book 3 Read online

  THE BRAZEN

  Copyright © 2021 by Devney Perry LLC

  All rights reserved.

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  ISBN: 978-1-950692-53-8

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  Editing & Proofreading:

  Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing

  www.razorsharpediting.com

  Julie Deaton, Deaton Author Services

  www.facebook.com/jdproofs

  Karen Lawson, The Proof is in the Reading

  Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  www.judysproofreading.com

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  Cover:

  Sarah Hansen © Okay Creations

  www.okaycreations.com

  Other Titles

  Calamity Montana Series

  The Bribe

  The Bluff

  The Brazen

  The Bully

  Writing as Devney Perry

  Jamison Valley Series

  The Coppersmith Farmhouse

  The Clover Chapel

  The Lucky Heart

  The Outpost

  The Bitterroot Inn

  The Candle Palace

  Maysen Jar Series

  The Birthday List

  Letters to Molly

  Lark Cove Series

  Tattered

  Timid

  Tragic

  Tinsel

  Tin Gypsy Series

  Gypsy King

  Riven Knight

  Stone Princess

  Noble Prince

  Fallen Jester

  Tin Queen

  Runaway Series

  Runaway Road

  Wild Highway

  Quarter Miles

  Forsaken Trail

  Dotted Lines

  The Edens Series

  Christmas in Quincy - Prequel

  Indigo Ridge

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  The Bully

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Kerrigan

  “Any news on the farmhouse?” Dad asked from his recliner.

  “Nope.”

  “What about the studio apartment?”

  “Another nope.” My answer was the same at this Sunday’s family dinner as it had been last week.

  I kept scrolling through my phone. Maybe if I didn’t make eye contact, it would spare me from the conversation that had come after last week’s questions about my vacant rental properties.

  “You know . . .”

  Ugh. Not again.

  “Any time you want to come and work for me, I’ve got a spot for you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a tight smile. But no, thanks.

  “You could work in finance,” he said. “Or be an assistant manager like Zach. Use that business degree of yours and teach us all a few things.”

  My brother’s jaw clenched from his spot beside me on the couch. I was the first in our immediate family to have earned my bachelor’s degree. Larke had hers too for teaching, but Zach was the oldest sibling and his lack of higher education was a touchy subject.

  “Or you could—”

  “I’d better see if Mom and Larke need help in the kitchen.” Zach shoved off the couch and strode away before Dad could toss out another job opportunity for me at his car dealership.

  Great, now he was in a mood. Dinner should be fun. Especially if Dad didn’t drop this subject before Mom served her lasagna.

  Why had I told my parents I was running low on money? Why? I should have kept my damn mouth shut.

  A couple of weeks ago, Mom and Dad had stopped by my house for an impromptu visit. I’d answered the door wearing two sweaters and my wool socks because I’d been keeping my thermostat at sixty to lower the power bill. By the time they’d left an hour later, Mom had been shivering and Dad had convinced himself that I was penniless.

  I considered it more desperate than destitute. Funding three vacant properties didn’t exactly lend itself to a cushy cashflow position, and trimming expenses had been my only option. But it was going to be okay. I was nearly broke, but not broken. And after my conversation with Gabriel on Tuesday, I wasn’t as freaked out as I had been.

  He’d given me the pep talk I’d needed. He’d promised that all successful entrepreneurs hit their peaks and valleys. I was just suffering through my first low. And he was extending my loan. The paperwork hadn’t come through yet, but I was sure his lawyer would send it over shortly.

  Gabriel Barlowe was a billionaire and the most successful man I’d ever met, so to have him tell me that everything would be okay, to have his financial backing, soothed a lot of my fears.

  I went back to my phone, pulling up the news. The first three stories were of no interest, but then a headline caught my attention.

  Four Killed in Rocky Mountain Plane Crash.

  Oh, God. I opened the article and its words hit me like a bullet to the chest.

  My eyes blurred as I kept reading. It couldn’t be true. This was wrong. It had to be. He wasn’t . . . gone.

  “You might like sales,” Dad said. “Always good commission income.”

  I stood from the couch and left the living room, my phone clasped in my grip as I hurried to the bathroom and closed myself inside. Then I dabbed furiously at my eyes before forcing myself to read the article again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I lost track of the number of times I read those tragic words, hoping and wishing they weren’t true.

  “Kerrigan?” Zach knocked on the door.

  I swiped at my cheeks, drying the tears that wouldn’t stop. “Yeah?”

  “Dinner’s ready. Mom wants to know if we should wait or . . .”

  “I’ll be right there.” I waited until my brother’s footsteps retreated down the hallway before burying my face in my hands and letting out one more sob.

  Gabriel.

  He was gone.

  Killed in a plane crash two days ago.

  No one had told me. No one had called me. I had just spoken to him and now . . .

  He was dead.

  Gabriel.

  My mentor. My investor. My unwavering advocate.

  My friend.

  He’d never doubted me. He’d championed my ambitions rather than questioned them.

  And now he was gone.

  Another sob escaped followed by another and another.

  My family ate dinner without me.

  Chapter One

  Pierce

  This woman was shouting at me, and I couldn’t stop staring a
t her mouth.

  Her lips were a perfect shape. A proud upper lip, not too plump and not too thin. The bottom was lush with a slight pout that deserved to be traced by the tip of a tongue. They were coated in a gloss that made their natural peach color look as sweet and juicy as the fruit itself.

  “You can’t do this.” Her arms flailed in the air.

  She was beautiful. Of course she was beautiful. My grandfather had had impeccable taste.

  According to him, she was as sharp as a tack too, and while I should probably be paying attention to the fire in her eyes or the words she was throwing at me like knives, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything but that mouth.

  “Fuck you!”

  My gaze shot to her pretty brown eyes. Fuck you was pretty hard to ignore, especially as it echoed off the storefronts of downtown Calamity, Montana.

  The letter I’d handed her moments ago was clutched in her hand. It stated, plainly, that she was in default of her loan and had one month to pay it in full. It was a loan my late grandfather had given her to fund some investment properties in this small town. A loan to a girlfriend. Mistress. Booty call? I didn’t have a damn clue how she’d fit into his tangled web of women.

  The notion of his mouth on the perfection of hers made me cringe. Maybe because of their relationship, she’d assumed her debt would be forgiven.

  Never.

  Yes, that made me a vindictive asshole, but she wasn’t the only one freaking out at the moment. My grandfather had fucked me over while he’d been alive. His death had brought about round two.

  All I wanted was to erase that son of a bitch from my life, starting by collecting on his loan to this breathtaking woman.

  Kerrigan Hale’s eyes blazed. Her face was turning red, either from her fury or from shouting at me for a full minute.

  We were causing a scene. Well, she was causing a scene. I was simply standing here staring at her mouth, hating myself for thinking she was beautiful.

  People emerged from their tiny shops. A woman wearing a black apron came out of the coffee shop, looking up and down the sidewalk until she spotted the source of the commotion. Us. A couple rushed out of the art gallery and came jogging our way.

  Spectacles weren’t all that appealing, so it was time to wrap this up before we drew a crowd.

  I opened my mouth to reiterate the message I’d come here to deliver, but before I could speak, Kerrigan took the letter I’d handed her and began ripping it to pieces. Tear after tear, a snarl formed on those pretty lips. Maybe she was envisioning me as the paper. One moment she was shredding, the pieces getting smaller and smaller. The next, the fragments flew in my face.

  I blinked and let them fall to the sidewalk. Tearing up that letter wasn’t going to change the facts.

  We were both fucked.

  “Thirty days, Ms. Hale.”

  Her nostrils flared.

  The couple from the gallery reached us, standing beside Kerrigan as they both looked me up and down. Since I had no desire to meet the locals, it was time to go.

  “Thirty days.” I spun away from Kerrigan before she could throw anything else in my face—another curse, a wad of spit, her fist.

  My polished shoes clicked on the sidewalk as I made my way toward my gleaming gray Jaguar, ignoring the daggers being glared into my spine.

  Kerrigan could hate me all she wanted. I wasn’t the one who’d put her in this position. That award belonged to my grandfather. But had she cursed his name? No. Once again, Gabriel Barlowe emerged the victor.

  Without a backward glance, I slid behind the wheel and pulled away. The Jag’s engine purred down First Street. The leather steering wheel was warm beneath my palms from the sun. Even after spending most of the past two days in the driver’s seat, the car still had that new-car smell.

  I’d owned the Jag for months. It had been a gift to myself the day my divorce had been finalized. But I hadn’t driven it much. I rarely needed to drive.

  Until this trip.

  The eleven-hour journey from Denver to Montana had consumed all of yesterday. I’d stayed in Bozeman, wanting to see the place where my grandfather had spent so much time. Then this morning, I’d driven to Calamity to deliver Kerrigan’s letter.

  A letter that was now littering the sidewalk as confetti.

  The phone rang and my assistant’s name came up on the console. “Hello.”

  “Good morning,” Nellie said. “How are you today?”

  “Fine.” For being cussed at before noon.

  “How did your meeting go?”

  “Fantastic,” I deadpanned. A negative reaction from Kerrigan had been a given. I’d expected tears and begging. Instead, I’d gotten a fuck you with paper thrown in my face.

  She had steel, I’d give her that.

  “Tell me again why you insisted on driving to Montana when that letter could have been mailed,” Nellie said.

  “I wanted to reinforce my point.” And I’d been curious about the woman my grandfather had adored.

  “Uh-huh,” she muttered. Had I been in my office, I would have earned Nellie’s famous eye roll. “Now what?”

  “I’m going to stay here tonight.”

  “Really? I thought you were going to head to the cabin.”

  “Change of plan.” I wanted to scope out this little nowhere town that Kerrigan Hale called home.

  As I drove down First, creeping along behind a flatbed truck with the license plate G0NCTRY, I scanned the businesses that lined the street. A metropolis, Calamity was not. Yet my grandfather had invested a pile of money in this small community. Actually, he’d invested a pile of money in her.

  Why? Why Calamity? Why Kerrigan? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about her mouth? And why hadn’t she cried? I’d really expected tears.

  Curiosity aside, the real reason I wasn’t going to the cabin tonight was because I wasn’t ready. The idea of sleeping there made my stomach churn as much as the idea of Grandpa’s hands on Kerrigan’s supple breasts.

  I could stay in Calamity and head to the cabin tomorrow. Then after a quick stop to talk to the caretaker, I’d get the hell back to Denver.

  “Should I find you a hotel room?” Nellie asked.

  “Please.”

  “In Calamity or Bozeman?”

  “Calamity.”

  “Okay. But I doubt whatever motel they have has a star rating,” she teased.

  “I don’t need a star rating.”

  She scoffed. “Liar.”

  Nellie had been my assistant for the past five years, and in our time together, I wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen me as her boss. In most ways, it was the other way around. Not once had she looked at me like anything more than the guy she’d outscored on every high school math and English exam.

  Maybe that was why she’d lasted five years. Her predecessors had an average tenure of only six months. The longest had made it a year, the shortest just two weeks. Each had annoyed me and when we’d parted ways, it had been with a sigh of relief.

  If Nellie quit, I’d lose my goddamn mind.

  Nellie didn’t kiss my ass or call me Mr. Sullivan. She didn’t bite her tongue when she disagreed with my decisions. She didn’t temper her opinions because I signed her paychecks.

  “Anything come up in the office I should know about?” I asked.

  “Nothing I couldn’t take care of.”

  While she was technically my assistant, her title was vice president to the CEO and there wasn’t much she couldn’t handle. Which was why she made more than any other vice president at Grays Peak Investments. Now that we were taking on so much more, I’d need her. “Thank you.”

  “You sound tired.”

  I shifted, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand while driving with the other. “I am. It was a long drive.”

  “You could have flown.”

  “No, it was good. I needed to clear my head.”

  “Not much to clear. You could have done it with a thirty-minute trip along the Front Range.”

/>   “Funny,” I muttered.

  “You know I’m kidding. But I feel like I should have gone with you.”

  “No, I’m good,” I lied. I hadn’t been good in months.

  “Your parents called.”

  I swallowed a groan. “And?”

  “And maybe you’d know what they wanted if you returned their calls.”

  I’d been avoiding Mom and Dad since the funeral. Mom especially, because she’d want to talk about everything I didn’t want to talk about. “Are they still in Hawaii?”

  “Yes. Your mom invited me to fly over next weekend.”

  I chuckled. They loved Nellie more than they loved me, which was true for most people who knew us both. “Go for it.”

  “I need more vacation time.”

  “You negotiated for that last time I screwed up.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes.” She had one month a year. Soon it would be six weeks. Eventually I’d do something to piss her off and she’d get another two weeks out of me. I was only holding out for my ego’s sake.

  “When’s the last time I got a bonus?”

  “Ten months ago.”

  “Right,” she drawled. “The day you took Kris’s side over mine in our discussion about the Christmas party.”

  And I’d paid for that decision. Nellie had told us that an open bar would be more fun for the employees. Kris, our attorney, had argued that an open bar would lead to drunk employees and regrets come Monday morning. Given the party had ended an hour early and I’d been called cheap in a few hushed conversations, Nellie had been right.