Beverly Long - Urgent Pursuit

She gathered her courage. “I’m not sure there’s much to be gained from going over old ground, but—” she took a breath “—but if I hurt you, I’m sorry.”

He stared at the coffee in his cup. “If you hurt me?” he repeated softly. “If?”

He wasn’t going to let this be easy. She understood. She deserved this. “When,” she corrected. “When I hurt you.”

He looked up. “I guess I’d really just like to know what happened.”

“You left,” she said.

“I enlisted. We had discussed it. You said you would wait.”

She had intended to. And she had wanted to. Then things had happened. But nothing she could tell Bray about. Nothing she could ever tell anyone about.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BEVERLY LONGenjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at Facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.

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To mothers and daughters and the love they share.

Contents

Cover

Introduction There were things that needed to be said. She gathered her courage. “I’m not sure there’s much to be gained from going over old ground, but—” she took a breath “—but if I hurt you, I’m sorry.” He stared at the coffee in his cup. “If you hurt me?” he repeated softly. “If?” He wasn’t going to let this be easy. She understood. She deserved this. “When,” she corrected. “When I hurt you.” He looked up. “I guess I’d really just like to know what happened.” “You left,” she said. “I enlisted. We had discussed it. You said you would wait.” She had intended to. And she had wanted to. Then things had happened. But nothing she could tell Bray about. Nothing she could ever tell anyone about.

Title Page Urgent Pursuit Beverly Long www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author BEVERLY LONG enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com , or like her at Facebook.com/beverlylong.romance .

Dedication To mothers and daughters and the love they share.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Tuesday, 4:00 p.m.

Bray got off the plane in St. Louis, Missouri, and shuffled alongside all the other passengers through the terminal. He’d slept the entire flight, but since it was just over two hours from New York to St. Louis, it was not nearly enough time to make up for the past three months, when any rest in excess of four hours a night was considered a luxury.

And when you made your living working as a drug enforcement agent, luxury wasn’t part of your everyday vocabulary. But now he had five whole days of downtime, a well-earned vacation as his boss had coined it, to catch up on his sleep.

For months, he’d been planning to travel to Missouri in November for Thanksgiving. Had expected turkey would be served at Chase’s upscale, albeit rather sterile, apartment in St. Louis. Had not imagined Chase would move the event to the family home in Ravesville—or that he’d add something else to the holiday weekend.

He’d been casual, too casual Bray now realized, when he’d asked Bray how he might feel about extending his stay through Sunday. Bray had assumed he was looking for help to get the house ready for sale.

He’d almost fallen off his chair when Chase had announced that he was getting married on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and would Bray serve as a groomsman? Bray had laughed and said, “Hell, yes.” Then Chase, apparently oblivious that at Bray’s advanced age of thirty-seven it was good to have some time to adjust to shocks, had kept going. He wanted to buy the family home, to settle in Ravesville with his new wife, Raney.

“Of course,” Bray had said. Then added, “Is there anything else?”

All Chase had said was to expect a call from Cal.

He’d had to wait forty-three hours for his youngest brother to call. And when Cal announced that Bray needed to make sure he could get time off for two trips west because he was engaged and would be married at Christmas, Bray hadn’t minced words. “I’ll come but I’m sure as hell not drinking the water. The Hollister boys are falling fast, and I’m going to save myself.”

He was happy for his brothers. But he knew that marriage wasn’t for everyone. He’d come close once, but it had been a long time ago. He’d gone to war, and Summer Wright had married somebody else.

Chase had shared that she was divorced with a couple of kids. Still living in Ravesville. Didn’t matter. He and Summer were old news.

He stepped up to the car-rental counter and took the keys for the Chevy Impala. In New York, he had a sweet little BMW convertible but he rarely drove it. Paid a hundred bucks a month to park it down the street from his Brooklyn condo. He mostly worked out of an old, beat-up Honda that was owned by the agency. There was nothing on it to steal, and it already had so many dents that the joke was he could run down some scumbag drug dealer and not even have to file a report.

He found his car in the lot and was on the road in less than a minute. Ravesville was ninety miles southwest of St. Louis in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his watch. With luck, he’d be there for dinner.

There was a lot of traffic for a Tuesday, but finally, when he was twenty minutes out, he called Chase’s cell phone.

“Red or white?” he asked when Chase answered.

“We’ve got plenty of both. Don’t worry about bringing any wine. Meet us at the church on the corner of Main and Portland. You’re just in time for rehearsal.”

“I could slow way down,” Bray said.

“Get your sorry self here. My bride wants to meet you.”

At the edge of Ravesville, he saw the gas station where he’d worked his junior and senior years. Like most places, the gas had been self-serve. Bray had worked the inside counter, taking money, selling hot dogs and learning to hate the smell of fountain pop.

Frank Baleeze, who had owned the place, had been his dad’s best friend. Once Bray turned sixteen, he’d offered him a job.