Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (2 page)

“And what if I say no?” I press.

“Well…You can’t,” she says shortly, “I already booked you a
plane ticket for tomorrow.”

“There it is,” I reply, “The kicker.”

“What? You
are
coming, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” I sigh, resigned.

My mom lets out a shriek of delight. I wince, holding the
phone away from my ear until she’s finished.

“See?! Good thing I went ahead and bought the ticket!” she
crows, “Your flight is late tomorrow night, so plan on crashing at a motel or
something when you get to Montana. I’m sure you’ll be able to find something.
Then you can take a cab out to the lake house early in the morning. It’s
beautiful
here in the morning.”

“Lake house?” I ask her, cocking an eyebrow, “That
sounds…Well…Above our pay grade, frankly.”

“Oh, hush. It’s all taken care of,” she assures me. “I’m
just so glad my baby’s coming out here to see me! I’ll see you in a couple of
days, honey. Love you so!”

And just like that, she hangs up. I stare down at my silent
phone, recalibrating to this change of plans.

Screw it,
I think to myself,
Montana, here I come.

Chapter One

Kalispell, Montana

Two days later…

My neck and shoulders are stiff as hell as I wake up in my
motel room near Glacier Park International Airport. Nine hours in an economy
airplane seat plus a few hours sleeping on little more than bare mattress
springs have really done a number on me. I wish I could take after my sister
Sophie when it comes to self-care. She’s all about yoga, dance, jogging, and
generally not feeling like crap. And while I may run naturally thin, I’m rather
embarrassed about what bad shape I’m actually in. There’s not an ounce of
muscle on my five foot eight frame, which makes sense—I’m too stunningly
uncoordinated to be good at sports, or any physical activity more complicated
than walking. My big sisters used to call me “Bambi” when I was a preteen. Not
because I was particularly cute, but because my growth spurts left me
staggering around like a newborn deer for most of my adolescence.

Still, I can’t complain. I’ve since grown into my gangly
limbs, big blue eyes, and nearly-white blonde hair. Sure, I may be a little
unconventional-looking, but I’ve learned to appreciate beauty in all its
unlikely forms since taking up photography a few years back. What might have
been a passing hobby of taking pictures has since become my passion. Learning
to embrace my perspective, being unafraid to see the world differently than
other people, has been a saving grace. Photography is certainly a better outlet
than the original coping mechanisms I turned to after my father’s death;
namely, cheap vodka and lackluster sex with older high school boys.

Hey—it was a lot cheaper than therapy.

“Oof,” I grumble, rolling out of the lumpy motel bed and
haphazardly throwing on some clothes. I had to pack in a hurry yesterday, so I
end up in a tattered Black Flag tee shirt, some leggings, and a messy, high
ponytail. Not exactly the typical Montana uniform, but it will have to do. With
my backpack hanging off one shoulder, I head downstairs to face the day.

“Hi there,” I say, approaching the front desk with my best
friendly smile, “I’m just checking out.”

The burly, balding man behind the counter doesn’t look up
from his issue of
Field & Stream Magazine
as I place my key in his
outstretched hand.

“And, uh, would you maybe be able to call me a taxi?” I go
on tentatively.

His head jerks up, color rising along his neck and cheeks.
That got his attention, all right.

“You must not be from around here,” he grumbles, giving me a
none-too-subtle once over with his beady eyes.

“Can’t say that I am,” I concede, crossing my arms to block
his view of my breasts. Of course,
this
is the morning I forget to throw
on a bra.

“There’s a number for a cab company on the cork board,” he
says, nodding across the room, “You’re on your own.”

“Uh. Thanks. I guess,” I reply, shuffling over to the
bulletin board in the corner. I can feel the man’s eyes flick up to admire my
ass as I turn around. Not that there’s a lot of ass to admire, mind you. My
T&A game is subtle, to say the least. As quickly as possible, I punch the
cab company’s number into my cell and get the hell out of there.

The air outside the dingy motel is surprisingly crisp.
Goosebumps spring up across my arms as I gulp down the chilly, pine-scented
air. After haggling with the taxi dispatcher and promising to tip the driver
heavily, a rickety cab pulls up to the curb before me. The guy behind the wheel
in not exactly pleased about hauling me out into the woods, but I try not to
let his displeasure get to me. I’ve come out here to relax, in theory. Better
start trying now.

I rest my forehead against the window as the car is
swallowed up by thick woods, speeding along straight empty roads toward my
destination. All I have to guide me is an address my mom texted me as an
afterthought—she’s never been good about remembering to provide key details. I
wonder what this lake house is going to be like. We Porters live plenty
comfortably, but Mom’s not exactly raking in the dough as a moderately
well-known artist. How is she affording this little spirit quest of hers?

Something tells me I may actually be happier
not
knowing.

After half an hour or so, the driver swerves onto the
shoulder and comes to a sudden stop. My body lets loose with a rush of
adrenaline, and I sit bolt upright in the backseat.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask, heart in my throat.

“Uh. Because we’re
here
,” the driver replies
condescendingly, raising an eyebrow at me in the rearview mirror.

I whip around and peer out the window. Sure enough, I spot a
mailbox nearly hidden in the overgrown greenery. It bears the number my mom
provided, and this is indeed the right road. There’s only one problem…

“Where’s the house?” I ask out loud, gaping at the thick
wall of trees beside the road.

“Hell if I know,” the driver shrugs, “But I’m
guessing
you’ll find it up the drive way.”

“What—?”

The driver jabs his thumb at a break in the greenery,
leading onto what looks like a long dirt road. My stomach flips over as I run
through all manner of worst case scenarios in my head. What if I get stranded
out here? What if my mom gave me the wrong address? What if I’m beset by
wolves? Or vampires? What if—

“If you don’t mind, I’ve got other trips to make,” the
driver says pointedly.

Embarrassed by my obvious lack of backwoods knowhow, I
thrust a few twenties toward the front seat and clamber out into the wild. I’ve
barely snatched my backpack from the cab when it takes off down the road, back
the way we came. With a tight knot pulsing in my gut, I turn toward the
seemingly deserted path that leads off into the woods.

“Well,” I gulp, “I guess vacation starts…now.”

Hiking my backpack higher onto my narrow shoulders, I set
off down the trail. Having grown up in rural Vermont, it’s not as though I’m
any stranger to trekking through the woods. How many times did I pick my way
through the forest around my family’s farmhouse in the dead of night after
sneaking out meet some high school beau? Or spend long summer nights camped out
with my friends, drinking and smoking around a fire? But those woods were as
familiar as the back of my now-trembling hands. This landscape is entirely new,
teeming with unknown perils and potential alike.

Who knows what this place holds in store for me?

To calm my nerves, I swing my backpack around and lift out
my beloved Canon DSLR camera. This new place in all its enormity is too much
for me to handle all at once. But the narrowed, enclosed world that appears
through the sight of my camera? That much I can always manage. I pop off the
lens cap and lift the camera, peering out at the lush green scenery with a new
sense of awe. A feeling of safety settles over me as I assume my place behind
the camera. It’s where I belong, after all.

I snap some shots of the forest as I continue along,
miraculously managing not to trip and fall on my face. My heartbeat resumes its
normal pace, and I even find myself finding faith that somewhere down this path
I really
will
find the lake house my mother’s been staying in. Just when
the last dregs of fear are dissolving from my mind, a towering, shadowy form
shifts into frame, appearing out of thin air and heading straight toward me.

A strangled yelp escapes my throat as I leap back in a
panic, clutching the camera to my chest. I brace myself, sure that I’m about to
be eaten, or abducted. Or both. But as my bewildered eyes finally focus on the
figure advancing toward me, it isn’t fear that keeps me rooted firmly to the
ground.

It’s something else entirely.

A wash of golden sunlight illuminates the tall,
broad-shouldered form of a young man as he steps out of the forest’s deep
shadows. I feel my eyes go wide, expanding to take in the full effect of his
stunning appearance. His bold presence. The very air in my lungs feels richer,
fuller, with every step forward he takes. So forceful is my reaction to him
that I have to consciously remind myself to breathe.

His staggering, balanced body moves with sureness and
effortless strength. The rugged jeans, white tee shirt, and red flannel he
sports can’t hide the sculpted contours of his finely muscled form. Intricately
drawn tattoos rake along his cut forearms, and his ash blonde hair is just long
enough to fall across his broad forehead. The stubble on his sharp jaw, giving
way to defined cheekbones and firm lips, lends him that final touch of
scruffiness that puts him over the edge into mind-blowingly sexy territory.

So lost am I to my unabashed admiration that it doesn’t even
dawn on me how blatantly I’ve been ogling this stranger. I lift my eyes,
struggling not to lose myself immediately in his bottomless gaze. His eyes are
a rich, dark brown, run through with golden rings. He’s regarding me with cool
amusement as he closes the space between us, finally coming to a stop right in
front of me. He’s got a huge knapsack slung on his built back, loaded with
mountaineering equipment. I still have to crane my neck a little to keep my
eyes on his.

“Are you always that pale, or did I scare you?” he asks
point-blank, a wry grin lifting the corner of his full lips.

“You. Uh. I…” I stammer, taken aback by his frank, cutting
tone. “I was maybe taken off guard, yes.”

“I’d say,” he laughs, lifting a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“So, what. Are you lost?”

“Me? No,” I say quickly, shooting him a nervous smile.

“Then what are you even doing out here?” he asks, not at all
convinced.

“I’m just…taking some photos,” I say vaguely, not wanting to
admit that I
am
very possibly lost in the woods. Even if he could point
me in the right direction, I wouldn't want to admit failure to this person I’ve
never met. There’s a challenge in his very gaze, an energy that makes me want
to do better.
Be
better than I am…

Or maybe he’s just really hot and I don’t want to look like
an ass.

“Well, find somewhere else to take your little nature walk,”
he says dismissively, moving to step around me, “This is private property.”

“It is?” I ask, alarmed.

“Oh yeah,” he nods, leaning down suddenly to murmur in my
ear. The unexpected proximity sends a jolt of excitement down my spine as he
elaborates. “And the dude who owns it is a real nasty fucker. Mean old guy,
lives alone out here. Doesn’t like strangers. Just a heads up.”

“Right… Thanks…” I say faintly, spinning around as he
strides away. Should I ask him for help, even if it means looking like an
idiot? Or hope that he’s just fucking with me, with all this
scary-old-man-in-the-woods stuff?

I don’t have time to decide. In a moment, the scruff,
gorgeous stranger is joined by another strapping young buck his age, also
wearing an enormous backpack. Together, they continue down along the path. Heat
rises in my cheeks as they begin to laugh uproariously, looking back over their
shoulders at me as they do. I’ve become the butt of their private joke after
all, it would seem.

“Whatever,” I mutter, trying to shake off the bizarre
encounter, “It’s not like I’ll ever see them again.”

But even so, I know it will be quite some time before that
gorgeous face fades from my mind’s eye. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I
know him from somewhere. But that’s probably just wishful thinking.

With no better plan at my disposal, I continue along the
dirt path. But before my worry can mount to a fever pitch, I feel it fall away
as I round a corner in the trail. The woods give way to a wide, grassy
clearing, at the center of which stands a gorgeous rustic mansion. It’s so
perfectly suited to its environment that it’s hard to believe anyone built it
at all—it looks like a natural extension of the forest. A wide verandah
encircles the ground floor, dark green shudders studding the flawless exterior.
And there, just beyond the house, is a crystal clear lake sparkling through the
pine trees.

I appear to have arrived at
a
lake house, all right.
But this can’t possibly be
the
lake house. My mom would have to auction
off a kidney to afford something like this. My shoulders slump as I realize I’m
not in the right place after all. With a sigh, I set off for the gigantic
house. Maybe someone can at least point me in the right direction, here.

Mounting the front steps, I tell myself that those assholes
in the woods were just messing with me about this being the house of some
forest-dwelling sociopath. At least, I
hope
they were just messing with
me. I give the door a swift rap before I lose my nerve, and wait. Heavy,
pounding footsteps ring out from within, and I’m just about to bolt when the
heavy front door swings open before me. For the second time in ten minutes, I
find my neck craning upwards as a gigantic, brawny man appears in the doorway.

“H-hi,” I stutter, words tumbling out of my mouth, “I know
I’ve got the wrong house and that this is your private property and all but—”

“Whoa, whoa,” the middle-aged man cuts me off in a rich bass
growl, “Slow down there. What’s your name?”

I swallow hard before beginning again, “I’m—”

“Annabel!” I hear a familiar airy voice trill from behind
the mountain of a man. He swings his huge body out of the way as a curly-haired
projectile rushes out onto the porch, wrapping me up in thin, bangle-clad arms.

“Mom?!” I exclaim, pulling back to make sure it’s really
her. Sure enough, Robin Porter is standing right before my eyes, her thick
golden curls flying every which way as she beams up at me.

“Welcome to Montana, honey!” she laughs, spinning me around
on the porch, “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Uh…Mom…?” I say slowly, trying to wrestle her excitement
down a notch, “I’m not sure how to say this, but…What exactly are you doing
here?”