Mastering Angela [Passion Peak, Colorado 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  When the tree was struck, one of the smaller limbs came down on both of them. They were lucky it wasn’t a larger one or they wouldn’t have been able to run away. By the time Nash and several of his stable hands had run outside, the men were back over the fence and gone. But Nash knew who one of them was, at least. Only one person would be stupid enough to take a risk like that.

  The marching was past them now, and conversation was once again possible. Nancy Badea, the woman who owned Nancy’s Novelties, leaned across Ian to say hello to him and tried to engage Nash in small talk as well, but Nash’s mind was on other things. He smiled politely and answered her questions in a noncommittal way as he mentally ticked off a list of things to do, including buying a more powerful generator so his security cameras would work if the power went out.

  On his other side, he caught a glimpse of Angela talking to Summer Andrews, who worked for Notus. They’d both been a couple of grades behind him in school, and Nash smiled as he recalled how he’d always thought of them as twins. Both had long, straight blonde hair, and except for the fact that Angela’s eyes were blue and Summer’s were green, Nash thought they looked a lot alike.

  They both gestured toward various floats, obviously impressed by the workmanship. Nash kept silent. It wasn’t that he didn’t admire the work that had gone into some of them, but he still had aversions to large crowds. That had started in his childhood and hadn’t dimmed when he reached adulthood. But Nash would do anything for a friend, including stand in the hot sun and watch rolling masses of crepe paper and cheesy banners.

  * * * *

  Once the parade was finally over, he said goodbye to Angela, told Ian he’d meet him at the house, and then sprinted toward his SUV to navigate the crowded downtown streets. Just as he finally made his way through the throngs of residents still milling about and was heading toward Cheyenne Boulevard, he received a call from detective Tommy Farley. “Hey, Tommy. What’s up?”

  “I may have something for you on Trace Coleman and his merry band of cronies. You home?”

  “On my way there now. Ian, Ron, and I are gonna take down the rest of the tree today.”

  “Perfect. I’ll meet you there.”

  Tommy, Nash, Ian, and Ron had all been in the same grade in school, but Nash hadn’t really had friends while growing up. After his father died when he was only seven, Nash had withdrawn from the things most boys his age did. His mother had been so wrapped up in charity events and board meetings that she’d never given him more than a passing glance. The big, rambling house had been just as filled with staff back then, so Nash had never lacked for food or clothing, but he had no one his own age to talk to.

  When his mother died seven years later, Nash had been stunned to learn that he alone now owned the entire Stonecraft fortune. His great-uncle Edward had been appointed guardian and overseer until Nash turned eighteen. The scenario was like something out of a superhero comic book to Nash’s ears, and he hadn’t wanted any part of it. He’d only wanted his parents to be alive, and he’d wanted friends.

  After college, Nash decided to open his home to the BDSM community in Passion Peak. He still didn’t regret that decision, despite the constant trouble from local politicians who regarded him and his friends as evil, depraved, and every other name they could think up.

  Nash hadn’t wanted to believe at first that Passion Peak natives who had been elected to city government would be such tight asses toward their own residents, but their actions over the years has forced him to confront the reality. He hated having to employ security guards when the club was open, but good friends weren’t easy to come by. Nash had spent too many years without them, and he’d close down the club before he’d let anyone hurt his friends.

  Tommy was already sitting in the cavernous kitchen with Ian and Ron when Nash arrived. The three had helped themselves to beer and the leftover pizza from Kasper’s Pizza down the street that Nash had ordered the night before.

  He glanced at Ian. “How did you beat me here?”

  Ian grinned. “I parked on Arapaho. Think I’m fucking stupid enough to park downtown like you did?”

  Nash ignored the dig because Ian was right. “Goddamn freeloaders. Did you at least save me a piece of fucking pizza?”

  Tommy chuckled. “Watch it, Stonecraft. I’m on duty. I’ll arrest you for mouthing off.”

  “Then why the fuck are you drinking?”

  “Because I can. Fuck you. Sit down and listen to this.”

  Nash grabbed the last piece of pizza and a cold beer, and then joined his three best friends at the table. “What do you have?”

  Tommy belched, put down his beer bottle, and flipped open a tiny notebook, exactly like the ones the detectives on cop shows used. Nash fought the urge to laugh, just like he had to every time he saw Tommy open it. “Okay. We all know Trace Coleman is trying to get his asinine ghost-hunting show off the ground here in Colorado. He’s somehow managed to successfully pitch his show to a local station in Denver, so I checked with the stations that serve Grand Junction. All of them have all turned him down, so he’s not here in Passion Peak to look for another TV station.”

  “Why have they turned him down?” asked Ian.

  Nash snorted. “Because he’s a fraud.”

  “Does he realize we don’t have our own TV stations here?” asked Ron.

  Tommy nodded. “I have no doubt he knows that. He’s not here to pitch his show. Not only is he a fraud, but there are numerous homeowner complaints in and around towns all over the country that allege Trace manufactures the so-called paranormal phenomena, and then claims to have found it when he investigates. I have a contact at the FBI in Denver who has been giving me information. The guy is like a bad rash all over the midatlantic and midwestern states, but so far he hasn’t done anything concrete enough for the FBI or local cops to do more than give him a passing nod.”

  “How did the FBI get involved?” asked Ian.

  Tommy grinned. “After Trace investigated a home under restoration belonging to a prominent physician in Philly, the doc called his friend in the local bureau there.”

  “Not too smart then, is he? Why are homeowners complaining?” asked Ron. “I mean, just because it’s fraudulent phenomena, or did something else happen?”

  Tommy tapped the page in his notebook that was, of course, too small for anyone but him to read. “Complaints of electrical issues after his team investigated, complaints of foul odors he claims are demons in the house, and one complaint of intent to steal property that couldn’t be corroborated. It seems this physician in Philadelphia had inherited the home from some rather shady family members, and there were rumors they’d hidden stolen jewelry in the walls during the fifties. The doc alleged that Trace had taken things from behind the walls in the home, but since the doc had no proof of what had been back there, if anything, the case was dropped.”

  Nash raised his eyebrows. “You think he was here to rob me, Tommy?”

  Tommy gave him a droll look and picked up the bottle of beer again to take a long sip. “Not sure, but you might want to hook up your cameras to your generator, just in case.”

  “I’m already on that. Any word about his injures? I watched that tree limb come down on his head, Tommy.”

  Tommy shook his head. “No, and if he or an attorney do contact you about those, let me know. We don’t know who was with him that night, by the way, and that bothers me. He has a crew, but so far none of them have helped him sneak onto private property to try and plant cameras, at least that we’re aware of.”

  “Well, like I told you already, he’s only approached me once about investigating, shortly after Van Whitney and his crew did the remodel job for me in the carriage house three years ago. I told him to shove it up his ass.”

  Tommy narrowed his eyes. “I talked to Van about that.” Van Whitney and Tommy were good friends, and had been since grade school. “He said he’d keep an eye on his crew to see if any of them were behaving differently now that Trace is back i
n town. Van was none to happy to hear that Trace started bugging you about the house shortly after he did a job here. He didn’t know about that at the time.”

  A shiver ran down Nash’s spine. “You think it’s related?”

  Tommy shrugged, drained his beer, and then stood. “No clue. Yet.” Tommy shook Nash’s hand. “I’ll keep in touch, my friend.”

  As Nash walked Tommy outside, he was struck as always by the sheer size of the man. He wasn’t overweight, just bulky from religious workouts with heavy weights. And he was tall. Due to his size and strength, he’d been invaluable as a linebacker for the Passion Peak Cougars in high school. When he participated as Dungeon Monitor for the nights Nash’s club was open for play, he was always masked. It made things more interesting when he was invited by other Doms to join in scenes, and Nash often wondered if any of the Passion Peak subs even realized that it was Tommy throwing that flogger or swatting their ass with that paddle.

  When he returned to his kitchen, Nash half listened to Ian and Ron speculate about Trace Coleman and his so-called paranormal investigations, but his mind had wandered back to his club and the promise Friday night might bring. Would Angela really show? He sincerely hoped so. And if she did, this time he’d be on more comfortable ground and wouldn’t make an ass of himself around her.

  Chapter Two

  “He looks like your boyfriend, Angela. What’s his name again?”

  Ian Malloy looked up into Angela’s startling blue eyes as she shot Dr. Basu Patil a droll look. “Channing Tatum looks nothing like Brett.” Ian glanced at the TV where a talk show featuring the celebrity in question was playing. He knew Brett Warner, and was inclined to agree with Angela, but Ian couldn’t say anything at the moment because Dr. Patil was in the middle of filling a cavity in his mouth.

  “And Brett is not my boyfriend.” Angela cut her gaze toward Ian for a second, and he wished he could ask if that was a certainty this time. It was fairly well known around Passion Peak that she’d put up with a lot of shit from Brett over the years.

  “Oh? I didn’t realize you’d broken up again.” The humor in Dr. Patil’s voice was unmistakable, even if Ian couldn’t see the expression on his face right now. One of the reasons he didn’t mind coming to the dentist was the easy camaraderie between this man and his staff. It made what was never a pleasant situation almost fun.

  “Yes, we did.” Angela smiled down into Ian’s face as she suctioned out his mouth. Was that smile because she’d broken up with Brett again, or meant for him alone? Ian had had a crush on Angela for years. She’d been two grades behind him in school, and he’d always thought her pretty and animated, although not in an annoying way like some women could be. He’d wanted to talk to her more at the parade on Saturday, but hadn’t had a chance to do so.

  “And it’s definitely over this time.” Another smile, and this time Ian couldn't pretend it hadn’t been deliberate. Interesting. He normally shied away from assertive women, but Angela wasn’t brash or rude. She was confident, and he found that very sexy. Plus, she’d been to Indulgence in the past with Brett. All they’d done was watch, and it had been obvious she was far more interested in the lifestyle than Brett. Now that Brett was out of the picture for good, dare he take a chance?

  “What was different this time?”

  Angela shrugged. “Well, Doc, I simply took as much of his shit as I was going to take.”

  “Good for you. Women shouldn’t put up with that.”

  When they were finished with his filling, Dr. Patil asked Ian how things were going in his life. That was the other thing he liked about this practice. As busy as they were, the staff was genuinely interested in their patients’ lives. “Pretty good. We have a new member on our team at work. Blaine Peterson. He’s from Chicago.”

  “And dating Carma Mandanici,” said Angela. “She does my hair.” Carma was a stylist at Expressions Salon, and as Angela relayed this tidbit of information to her boss, Ian wondered if she knew that Carma was dating both Blaine and Mateo Alvarado, who co-owned his family’s thriving sheep ranching business, Mystic Ridge Enterprises.

  Dr. Patil frowned. “Blaine Peterson? Wasn’t he on the news a while ago?”

  “You work with him, right, Ian?” asked Angela.

  “Yes, that’s right. Blaine moved to Passion Peak about a month ago to take an R&D job at Notus.” Notus was the power company that owned and operated wind turbines around the country. “He’s an electrical engineer, like me, and he got caught up in some trouble back home that involved—” He stopped in midsentence. He’d almost said “his ex-sub,” but he didn’t want to out Blaine. Plus, he wasn’t sure if Dr. Patil knew about Indulgence.

  “Trouble that involved someone he knew well. But he wasn’t a part of it. He told me and Jay Thomason the whole story.” Jay Thomason was their boss, and neither man believed that Blaine had had anything to do with it, but now it was up to a grand jury in Chicago to decide. “He went back home last week to give grand jury testimony.”

  “Do you think he’s innocent?” asked Angela.

  Ian studied her face. There was no trace of her anticipating juicy gossip she could swoop down on and repeat all over town. If there had been, he wouldn’t have said anything further to them about Blaine. He hadn’t been working with the man very long, but already he’d grown to respect him. “Yes, I do. And I'm hoping they clear him of all charges.”

  Angela nodded, her big blue eyes serious. “So do I. Carma is a good friend of mine, and the last time I talked to her, she was very worried for him.”

  Ian smiled, realizing too late that his face would appear lopsided because of the novocaine he’d been given. Then again, she was probably used to seeing that. Dr. Patil shook Ian’s hand. “Well, I hope it all works out for your friend, Ian. I’ll leave you in Angela’s capable hands from this point on. See you next time.”

  After he left, Ian seized the moment before Angela had to move on to her next patient. “Even though you’re no longer with Brett, do you plan on returning to Indulgence?”

  She averted her gaze for a quick second, and he swore she blushed a bit. What was that about? “As a matter of fact, I plan on being there Friday. Nash invited me Saturday at the parade, right before you showed up.”

  Ian struggled to keep his expression neutral. “I’ll make sure to watch out for you, then.”

  She looked like she was about to speak again, but then she scooped up his chart. “I’ll walk you up front, Ian.”

  He’d need to talk to Nash and find out exactly what had been said concerning him and Angela. If she was off limits, he needed to know that, and he wasn’t comfortable asking her here. After Angela placed his chart in front of Linda Petrelli, the receptionist and billing clerk, Ian gazed into her eyes with what he hoped was a meaningful look. “I look forward to seeing you again, Angela.”

  The flash of lust in her eyes was quick, but Ian caught it. He reined in an urge to grin. Linda was on the phone and not paying attention to them. Ian leaned close, inhaling Angela’s sweet scent. “Look for me on Friday so I can keep the vultures away from you.”

  As soon as he said it, he hoped that if she and Nash had discussed anything else, she’d say so now, but all she did was cut her gaze toward Linda, who was typing something into her computer as she talked on the phone. “Thank you, Ian. I’ll see you then.”

  She turned around, and he admired her curvy ass as it moved under her scrubs. Just before she reached the door to the treatment area, she glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching her. A huge grin filled her pretty face, and Ian fought the urge to pump his fists in the air. Friday was either going to be a lot of fun, or a cold slap in the face of reality.

  * * * *

  Angela was on pins and needles the remainder of the week. She was so excited to be returning to Indulgence, and this time it would be without the deadweight of having Brett around to criticize everything and shuffle his feet like a petulant child who couldn’t wait to be let out of school. This time, ther
e were two gorgeous, sexy Doms who would be there to welcome her. Things could get quite interesting.

  On Wednesday after work, she walked downtown to Sassy Brassy on Juniper Street so that she could buy some new club wear. She had some at home, but she wanted something fresh to wear Friday. She’d been steadily throwing out or donating to charity everything in her condo that reminded her of Brett. Since they’d been on again, off again for close to ten years, that amounted to a lot of memorabilia and clothing.

  The fragrance from the hundreds of flowers planted along this street rushed at her, as it always did. Angela loved this town, especially in the warm months. The flag bunting was still up in front of most of the businesses, and she knew it would be there until the winter winds came down from the mountains in the northwest. The Legend of Sleepy Cat Peak people had set up a semi-permanent tent right outside Taylor Drugstore, and Angela wandered over.

  She was one of the people in town who didn’t openly make fun of the dedicated group of volunteers. The legend was only a small part of the belief that the mountains and forests just outside of town were haunted.

  According to the legend, when there was heavy snow on Sleepy Cat Peak, it formed the image of a large cat. As the snow melted each spring, the cat was awakened. If the snow melted early, the cat’s slumber was cut short, and it became angry. Bad things then happened in the town for the remainder of the year.

  Angela stopped to admire a display of travel coffee mugs bearing the Sleepy Cat logo. She needed a new travel mug, and this one was red—one of her favorite colors. The Sleepy Cat logo colors of orange and gold looked nice against the red mug, so Angela picked one up.

  “Those are new.” She glanced up into the weathered face of Mason Ruiz, whose great-great grandfather was Ute, and had been one of the first Native Americans to report seeing the cat emerge from the mountains in the spring of 1836.