His Damsel in Distress Page 3

  Chapter Two

  Pulling into his garage, Corbin let out a long yawn. The drive from New York to Colorado had been long and arduous. Against Brent’s suggestion, he had chosen to drive rather than fly. Three times he had been stuck in some town while they cleared the roads enough that he could get back on them. Leaving New York had taken just under three weeks. He’d had to sell the house and his business; thankfully there were a line of people who were interested in both so by the time he left the city, with what he had from Lena’s death, he had over twenty million in the bank. Five he had put into a trust for Shawn and the rest Corbin put into investments or a bank account so he could have easy access.

  The only difficult part of leaving New York was in leaving Shawn. His brother-in-law had cried and clung to him on his last day there. Unfortunately, bringing him to Colorado wasn’t an option. Shawn was happy and safe in the assisted living home he was in. Everyone there was like him so he was never put down or degraded. The wonderful people who ran the place had taken his strengths and helped him build upon them. If there had been a similar facility in or near Corbin’s Bend, Corbin might have tried moving him, but in retrospect it was a good thing there wasn’t one. While they would miss one another, Shawn was happy where he was and they would still have their twice weekly phone calls. If his brother-in-law ever needed him, he would take a flight to New York instantly.

  Corbin wasn’t sure what he would do in Corbin’s Bend, except maybe stick out. From what his friends told him, everyone knew everyone in this small community and he was sure to bring some interest since Brent had named the bloody place after him. “Bastard,” he murmured fondly, getting out of his car.

  Having a two-car garage was a definite plus. Corbin had parked on the street in the city and had spent countless mornings cleaning off his car. Here he wouldn’t have to do that.

  His house was brand new construction, just having been finished in November, and he rather enjoyed the solitude it gave him. Currently, he had no neighbors. Though he was sure Brent, Calbert, and Jason would come over and bother him often. The thought made him smile as he closed down the garage door and opened the door to his new house.

  The long, rather than wide, nature of his place reminded him at first too much of New York, but as there was only one floor and the layout was nothing like the house he lived in with Lena, he was able to ignore it. The door from the garage opened directly into a large galley-style kitchen with black appliances and a dark, granite counter top. It felt… masculine and he instantly liked it. At the end of the kitchen was the front door.

  It was what sat in front of that door that brought him up short and gave him the first feeling of home. Three huge boxes with bright red bows sat there and he had no doubt who they were from. There was no other decoration to them – he had the feeling the bows were more an insistence from his friends’ wives than their own doing – and were actually bankers’ boxes. Inside was enough to keep him fed for the next month. Boxes of food, bags of bread, flour, and sugar; the boxes contained so much food he found himself laughing. “Looks like they wanted to make sure I wouldn’t escape to Denver and never come back,” he mused as he picked up the last box and put it on one of the counters. While the first two boxes contained stuff he would put in the pantry, the third was far more interesting.

  Boxes of sweets with the name Ange’s Angel Cakes on them attracted his attention and before he consciously thought about it, he pulled them out. In no time, he had the most delectable pastries scattered across his countertop with bites taken out of each one. The flavors reminded him of an Irish bakery just around the block from his house in New York. Crispy boxty loaf, an apple tart with an incredible crust that practically melted on his tongue, a piece of biscuit cake, and one of his favorites: gingerbread. But to top it all off was the most tempting dessert of all: a large piece of Irish Cream cheesecake. “Damn,” he grunted, grabbing another bite. “I have got to find out where Brent got these.” If the bakery was in Denver, he was definitely making a trip.

  Grabbing another piece, he finally turned away and walked around the wall into his living room. It was long, as long as the kitchen and pantry combined. With the dark maroon carpet and the taupe paint on the walls, he breathed a sigh of relief. It felt nothing like his old home. At the end of the living room on the left there was an opening that once he reached it he realized had a sliding door just like the pantry did. Through the opening was the bathroom and to the right was a doorway through to his bedroom. A large walk-through closet sat between the bedroom and bath and on the other side of the bathroom was his laundry room.

  “I like it.” It definitely felt warm. Of course that might have been due to the fact furniture was already in place. He had never shopped for furniture before so one day while talking with Brent’s wife on the phone, he found out she liked to dabble in design. It hadn’t taken much to get her to agree to outfit his house with the basics and seeing what she had done was surprising. Mainly because it reflected him. He had never met Charmagne in person, though that would soon be rectified, but she had figured out who he was just from the little he told her. Well, he had no doubt Brent had told her a little and no doubt Rose Rolsen had told her all she knew. But still, the simple, understated, modern furniture in dark tones was perfect.

  Unloading his car took little time and by the time the sun started down, he was unpacked. The rest of his things would be delivered sometime in the next two weeks.

  Hiding the sweets in one of the cupboards so they wouldn’t keep calling to him, he put the rest of the food in the pantry, happy to find Char had also equipped him with pots, pans, dishes, cups, and silverware. Hell, there was even a coffee pot all plugged in and ready for him. Not one of the new-fangled ones, but the kind where he could make a huge pot of the black stuff if he wanted. No tiny packets to make one cup. Thank god.

  As it turned out, his refrigerator and freezer were stocked as well. In fact sitting on the largest shelf in the fridge was a pot of Irish stew. “Shit. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he moaned after he’d grabbed a spoon and sampled. Tired as he was, he didn’t make anything complicated. Grabbing one of the loaves of bread, he hacked off a couple pieces and after buttering them, poured some of the stew into a small bowl and stuck it in the microwave. Grabbing a bottle of lager from the fridge, he went out into the living room and collapsed onto his overly long sofa. Just as he finished his last bit of stew and consideed getting another bowlful, the doorbell rang. Knowing it had to be one of three people, he put the bowl down on the coffee table and went to the door.

  As it opened, he saw more than three people. There were six, seven if he counted the little one in Brent’s arms. “Welcome home!” they all whisper shouted. Figuring they didn’t want to wake up the little girl asleep on her daddy’s shoulder, he opened up the door and they poured in. Calbert, Jenna, Jason, Rose, Brent, and he assumed the beautiful girl with raven hair was Charmagne. Each one held a pot or jar of some sort and the scents that wafted to him made his stomach growl.

  Before he knew it, a plate with several wonderful things including pork, potatoes, and a biscuit, was shoved into his hands and he went back to the sofa and sat between Brent and Calbert, both who had a similar plate in their hands. The little girl, Kayla if he remembered correctly, was still asleep and looking over at his friend, Corbin was sure he had never seen him happier. Being a father looked good on Brent.

  “You guys didn’t have to come over,” he said, leaning back and taking a bite of pork that made him moan in appreciation. He was glad he had only eaten a small bowl of the stew because he would have hated to be too full to eat this.

  Calbert grunted. “Did you think we had a choice? Brent, Jason, and I knew you would want a little peace and quiet. Our girls insisted you needed a hot meal.”

  “Insist is the wrong word,” Brent said in amusement. “Informed is more like it. After you left the community center this afternoon, Jonathon called Rose who called Jenna and Char and by the t
ime the three of us returned home, it was a done deal. Benjamin said he and Jonathon would drop by after you’ve had a chance to settle.”

  “How old is Kayla now?” Corbin asked, watching the little girl with fascination. Lena had been against having children and he had never really thought much about it.

  “Three and a half. She’s growing up so fast.” Brent dropped a kiss on her head before going back to eating. Jason walked into the living room, closely followed by the other three. As he took a seat in one of the armchairs, Rose sat in the other. Char curled up by Brent’s feet and Jenna took the last spot next to her husband.

  There was comfort as the seven of them talked. He noted that everyone talked about the present, that none of his friends brought up the past, and Corbin was grateful. It was all a bit too raw for him right now. By the time they left, he was happily replete – maybe a touch too full – with good food and great company. As he got ready for bed and was brushing his teeth, he couldn’t help but smile. Whether they knew it or not, they had just made Corbin’s Bend home for him. New York had been home to him for eighteen years as he went for graduate school and never left. When his friends moved to Colorado, New York had just been a place to exist. He thought it was due to the deteriorating relationship between him and Lena. But maybe there was more. Maybe it was his friends who had made New York home for him in the first place.

  If that was the case, he knew he would love it here in Corbin’s Bend. If they could just change the blasted name, he thought wryly as he climbed into bed.

  * * * * *

  He would freely admit he lived like a hermit for seven days. There was so much peace in his new home that he didn’t feel like getting out. Or maybe he just wanted to hide out from the world for a while. Whatever the reason was, Corbin couldn’t stay inside anymore on the eighth day. For one thing, the sun was shining and with the roads clear of snow and the fact it might reach above freezing, he decided to explore his new community.

  Growing up in Mississippi, he was used to small towns, but New York had hardened him a bit. So walking down the street and having an unknown person call out to him was a bit of a surprise.

  “Hello! You’re new.” The voice was jovial and filled with a thick Irish accent. While used to accents in New York, Corbin hadn’t expected to hear more than a western drawl out west. Hearing the lilt made him comfortable. Several of his neighbors back in New York had been Irish.

  Looking up, he nodded at the man shoveling the walk outside a two-story home. “Hello. My name’s Corbin Nelson.”

  Pausing as he dug the shovel into the bank of snow, the gentleman raised an eyebrow. “Corbin’s Bend Corbin?”

  Groaning, Corbin nodded. “Unfortunately my friend Brent has a warped sense of humor.”

  Grunting a laugh, the man nodded and pulled one of his gloves off as he walked forward, holding out his hand. “Jim O’Brien. My wife Ange and I moved here a couple years ago. Best thing we ever did. But you’re right. Brent has a wicked sense of humor. And it always seems to come out of left field.”

  Shaking the firm hand he was offered, Corbin grinned. “Very true. I’m taking today to check out the community. Anything I should look out for?” He couldn’t imagine there were danger spots, but you never knew.

  “Yup. Watch out for Ange’s Angel Cakes. The place sucks people in and next thing you know you’ll have more sweets than you can handle.”

  “Wait. Your Ange? Brent brought me a whole bunch of her sweets when I moved in. Those were brilliant! How are you not four hundred pounds?” Corbin looked at the man in front of him. Jim was still in good shape, though he had no idea how. If Corbin had a wife who cooked like Ange, he would have to go to the gym four times a day to keep up.

  “Ah, well, her selling them to others helps,” Jim said in amusement. “Plus I’m a fan of digging in with my hands and working. Keeps me sane and my body trim. But as far as the community, check out the community center and behind it’s a pool that’s open in the summer and a workout space. There’s also a theatre that’s open weekends now. In the summer it runs every night.” Jim paused and scratched his head as if he was thinking about it. “The restaurants are great and there’s some perfect hiking to be had. But if you’re looking for nighttime entertainment? Denver should be where you’re headed. There isn’t much here.”

  “All right, it was nice to meet you, Jim.”

  “You, too!” Jim pulled his glove back on and grabbed the shovel, once again attacking the snow that lined the walkway as Corbin continued along the road.

  Corbin met several residents on his walk: Mrs. McCovey who was mostly blind and kept asking him if he was sure he wasn’t Cary Grant, Quincy Lauder who seemed a little too interested in his widowered status, and Venia Varner, a very astute woman who he knew was one of Brent’s good friends. All three had been friendly without being overly so and by the time he reached the dome that housed the Corbin’s Bend Community Center, he felt more relaxed than he had in ages.

  When he heard a scream, the relaxation fled and he settled back into the mode he was more familiar with. Silence. His head darted around, looking for the woman who had made that utterance and when another scream came, he darted in the direction of it. As he rounded the corner of Spanking Loop, he spotted her. A woman with long red hair and an abundant curvy figure was wailing at a car. A car. At first he wondered if someone was trying to steal it. Until he actually looked at the vehicle. A 1978 Pontiac with steam pouring around the hood. The damned thing looked like it should be in the scrap heap.

  “You beastly, hideous, piece of—”

  Fighting a laugh that was trying to bubble up his chest at the fury in her voice, Corbin stepped forward. “Is there anything I can help you with, Miss…?”

  The redhead turned sharply in his direction, bright green eyes staring into his while pink tinged her cheeks. As her eyes darted around and finally settled on his shoes, she shrugged and sighed. “My new car was supposed to be delivered two weeks ago. With the weather it hasn’t been possible. Since I have to go to Denver today, I pulled the beast back out and the damned thing just died.” Her voice was filled with righteous anger until the end where it curved into a whine. And what an amazing voice it was, too. Soft, stirring, and with incredible depth. Unfortunately the whine made her sound like a teenager.

  The laughter bubbled up further and he coughed to try and hide it. “The beast seems like a name that fits. Maybe you should shoot it.”

  Gasping, she stared at him for a moment with wide eyes before a loud peal of laughter left her lips. “If you’ve got a gun, I’m game,” she teased when the laughter stopped. Her laughter made him smile and the laugh that had bubbled in his throat burst forth. It felt strange as he couldn’t actually remember the last time he had laughed like that. It was nice all the same.

  “I think that even if you got it running again that it wouldn’t make it to Denver and back,” he said kindly, not wanting to upset her again. “Maybe with the good weather today, they will bring your car up.”

  Sighing, she nodded. “Actually my thought was to drive down and get it, fill my new car with food and come back. One would think that since it’s mostly downhill that I could make it to Denver.”

  Amused and rather impressed with her ability to spring back from annoyance to humor quickly, he shook his head as he watched her. A delightful dry sense of humor and wonderful curves. Damn, they didn’t make women like her in New York. “Can I give you a lift? I actually need to make a run down to Denver myself and you’re welcome to ride along. I could drop you off at the car dealer, if you’d like. The name’s Corbin Nelson,” he said, holding out his hand.

  There was only the slightest hesitation before she took it. “Zinnia Loraine. Just moved here a couple weeks ago. Are you the Corbin the place is named after? Or is it just a coincidence?”

  “It’s my friend Brent’s idea of a joke,” he said wryly making her laugh. “And I moved here just a week ago.”

  “Yuck. And I thought I came
during the worst weather.”

  * * * * *

  While she waited for Corbin to come back with his car, Zinnia divided her time between glaring at the beast and thinking about how smart it wasn’t accepting a ride from a man she didn’t know just to collect her car. It was that kind of stupidity that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. Gnawing on her bottom lip, something her agent had taken her to task for often but she had never been able to give up, she decided there wasn’t much else she could do. She needed food and her car. The dealer was being a jerk about getting the car to her so the easiest thing would be to go get it herself.

  Unfortunately her life and the word easy never seemed to be synonymous.

  When she got tired of waiting and told the dealer she’d be down to pick it up, it had been with definite displeasure. Pique which had dwindled when she got into her garage and smelled the moldy interior of the beast. But with the window locked down unable to be wound back up, she figured she would have plenty of fresh air at least. Of course the bloody car had to die minutes from home. It had started willingly enough and hadn’t even backfired as she backed out of her garage and headed out. But two blocks from Spanking Loop it just died. No moan, no cough, nothing. As if it couldn’t even give her a warning before it just gave up.

  The sight of a deep green Mercedes pulling up behind her car caught her attention and she looked up as Corbin stepped out. Damn, but he was a fine piece of man. Tall, well-built in a way that said he wasn’t a stranger to the gym but preferred athleticism to weight lifting, with gorgeous brown hair she wanted to sink her fingers into. The silvery gray that sat at his temples just increased his attractiveness. Something about his twinkling bright blue eyes and the curve of his lips reminded her of the actor Cary Grant. Of course his accent, a unique mixture of Bostonian, New Yorker, and something else even made him sort of sound like the deceased actor.