Blaming Owen: The Crystal Lake series, #5

1

Owen: Young Warrior

Owen O’Brien cruised down Main Street on his new Italian custom-made bike, the warm summer air in his face, the sun tanning his bare forearms. The bike was so cool and he knew he definitely looked cool riding it. Like Peter Fonda must have felt when he’d made the movie Easy Rider . The power between his thighs, the precision turns, the monstrous roaring sound. It was a fine tuned machine. Though he wasn’t the type to make frivolous purchases very often he made the occasional exception when it came to motorcycles. This one especially had been worth every penny .

He made a turn onto Dunlap Road and picked up speed as he headed away from Crystal Lake and aimed for the countryside. The engine roared. Forty miles an hour. Fifty, sixty, seventy. The bike made him feel free.

But he’d barely gone a mile when he caught sight of a sign in the middle of the yard of the old Bangkok house, advertising a household sale. Several cars and trucks lined the road in front of the restored nineteenth century home that he happened to now own. What the hell? He made a U-turn and headed back in the direction he’d come.

Instead of parking on the street, he pulled into the drive and parked behind a beat up green Ford Taurus. After killing the engine, he swung a leg over the seat of the bike and tugged the helmet off his head. Strutting up the drive, and then the brick walkway, he stopped when he saw Ivy Bangkok standing on the big front porch.

She was a tiny thing, with luscious curves in all the right places, although she looked thinner than he remembered. Her skin tight holey jeans and skimpy T-shirt accentuated her round sexy ass, her small breasts. Black silky hair was pulled back into a ponytail and exposed her pretty face and fawn complexion. Being part Asian she was sometimes exotic looking with chocolate-colored, almond-shaped eyes, full ruby lips and high cheekbones. But with the ponytail, and from this distance, she mostly looked Caucasian.

He’d had the biggest crush on her for the longest time. Until two years ago when his twin sister Mack had decided it was time for him and his brothers to get married. She’d started playing matchmaker and had chosen her friend Ivy especially for him. But hearing the word marriage was all it had taken for him to lose interest in the woman. And fast. He didn’t want to get married then and he sure as hell didn’t want to get married now. Although all his siblings had taken the plunge, and happily too. But he still had some wild oats to sow, as the saying went. And he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

He watched as Ivy tossed a sheet over a painting that looked like it might be valuable, and handed it to an elderly gentleman in exchange for a hundred-dollar-bill. Thank you. You have no idea how many children you just saved. Enjoy it. Her smile lit up her face. She tucked the bill in her jeans pocket.

You bet. The man grinned like he was the luckiest guy on the planet. This thing is worth a small fortune. Wait until my wife sees it.

You bring your wife with you tomorrow, Mr. Johnson, and I’ll make her a sweet deal on that dining room table.

Will do. The man trotted down the stairs with his purchase and headed across the lawn.

Owen continued up the walk and the few stairs to the porch. Ivy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?

Owen O’Brien. She said his name with a singsong effect. I thought that was you who got off that fancy bike. I recognized your cocky swagger even though I may not have recognized you with the long hair and beard.

He’d let his hair grow out a little, thinking the change in his image would look good on the new bike and preserve his youthfulness in some way. He was pushing thirty and he didn’t like the idea of getting older. As for the beard she’d mentioned, it was more like facial hair rather than a full beard. He couldn’t quite commit to something like that. Not yet anyway.

You have no right to be on this property.

She placed a hand on her hip. Aren’t you even going to say hello? Jeez, Ivy, it’s great to see you after all this time, she said in a mocking tone. Welcome back to Crystal Lake.

Yeah, whatever. He waved a dismissive hand. You don’t own this house. The bank owns it now and everything inside. And do you know who owns the bank?

She brought a finger to her temple. Jeez, let me guess. You?

She didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Actually, The O’Brien Company owned the bank, which was owned by him and his brothers but he didn’t argue. Yes.

A tall woman with short blonde hair came out the screen door holding a crystal vase. How much for this?

Ivy appeared to be thinking about it. I can’t let it go for less than twenty dollars.

The woman looked excited. I’ll take it.

But Owen reached out and snatched the vase from her hands. The vase is not for sale. Nor is anything else. Go home. He opened the screen door and shouted inside. The sale is over, folks! Time to go now! He set the vase on the glider.

What do you think you’re doing? Ivy glared at him. You’re going to chase away my customers.

That was the plan. Did she actually think she could just sell his stuff out from under him and for a fraction of the value? Apparently so.

A middle aged couple came out the screen door and scowled at him. Several other people followed the couple onto the porch and down the front steps.

That’s it. Go on now. Owen swung his hand wide, as if to sweep them all away.

One man stopped on the porch in front of Ivy. What time will you be here tomorrow?

I’ll be here all day, she said.

No, you won’t! Owen was fed up with her lunacy. You don’t seem to understand that your father lost this place to the bank. We’re going to auction it off next month. In the meantime, you’re trespassing, not to mention stealing.

I haven’t stolen anything.

The hell you haven’t. There’s no telling what you’ve already sold for pennies on the dollar. I have a good mind to call the police.

Go right ahead. She lifted her chin a notch. Grady Sullivan happens to be a friend.

Yeah, well, he also happens to be my brother-in-law. And if I call him he just may come and throw your sweet little ass in jail. How does that sound?

The man who had asked Ivy what time she was going to be here tomorrow took a step toward him. I don’t think you need to speak to the lady like that.

Owen glanced at him and was about to apologize when the man spoke again.

Hey, aren’t you one of the O’Brien brothers?

Yes, sir. Owen tried to remember his manners, most of the time, but when it came to Ivy it was difficult.

Well, you ought to be ashamed of yourself talking that way to a lady. Ms. Bangkok is just trying to save the starving children and orphans of the world.

Starving children and orphans of the world? What the hell was he talking about?

Ivy cocked her head at him all smug-like before turning to address her customer. Owen doesn’t care about starving children. All he cares about is money. She focused on him once again. How much did that motorcycle set you back? It looks like a custom made bike.

Yeah. So?

How much?

It was none of her damn business how much he had spent on the bike, but he supposed the money could have saved quite a few starving children. He didn’t dare mention the collection of vintage bikes he had at home in his garage. He’d damn near spent a fortune on the things. Feeling guilty, he hung his head low. Then remembering she was the one breaking the law, he jerked his head upright. You’ve got five minutes to clear out of here or I’m calling the cops. And I want the keys.

Should I come back tomorrow and pick up the sleigh bed? the man asked Ivy.

Owen turned his gaze on the man. The bed isn’t for sale.

But I already paid for it. Two hundred dollars.

Owen looked at Ivy. Give him his money back.

I will not. She crossed her arms in front of her. A deal is a deal.

Shaking his head, Owen dug in his jeans pocket for his wallet and paid the guy. There you go.

The man nodded, thanked him and was soon on his way.

Owen zoomed in on Ivy once again. You owe me two hundred dollars plus the money for whatever else you sold out from under me.

Bite me. She opened the squeaky screen door and went inside the house in a huff, letting the door shut with a slap behind her.

He swore silently then followed her inside. Immediately his nostrils were assaulted by the closed up musty smell of the house. To the left was the scantily furnished living room. She’d apparently already sold most of the antique furniture that had once shown off the room so nicely. On the right was the dining room with the trestle table she hoped to sell tomorrow. Atop the table sat several pieces of crystal and china all waiting to be scooped up for a mere fraction of their worth. All the walls were bare, as she had obviously already stripped them of the expensive artwork.

But he’d only had a moment to take it all in as his gaze went to Ivy’s shapely denim clad ass as it swayed from side to side with her walk. She was heading toward the kitchen. He caught up to her in three long strides.

Ivy? What the hell did you do?

Ignoring him, she went into the kitchen, turned on the faucet in the big soapstone sink and sighed. Damn. I forgot. There’s no water.

We shut the utilities off and drained the pipes last winter.

There was that sigh again. She turned to face him. It doesn’t matter. And I shouldn’t be complaining. There are children all around the world who go days at a time without water. One afternoon isn’t going to kill me.

He had no idea why she was so hung up on starving children and orphans. But it probably had something to do with the year she’d just spent visiting third world countries.

She rested her hip against the slate counter and stared at him with defiance.

When the Bangkoks had purchased the home twenty-some years ago they’d had the kitchen restored to its original design, complete with the fireplace in the corner and the updated wainscoting. He noticed the copper pots and cast iron skillets that were now cluttering the rustic wood table, all hanging around until they were taken to their new homes. But not if he had anything to say about it.

You’ve been busy. How long have you been getting ready for the sale?

A few days.

How long have you been back in town?

A few days.

Mack didn’t mention seeing you, or that you were back. Surely his sister would have said something. Where have you been staying?

She averted her gaze, didn’t answer him. So he had his answer.

Ivy, you can’t stay in this house. So I suggest you pack up your bags and go to a hotel or somewhere. And by bags I mean your clothing, not the household goods.

She rolled her eyes at him and pushed away from the counter. Hotels cost money.

Yeah, so? I’m sure your pockets are lined with plenty of cash after all the stuff you sold here today.

I need that money. Children are suffering all over the world. Don’t you get that?

Yes, he got it. But what was he supposed to do about it? Sometimes he would lie in bed at night and think about all the wealth his family had accumulated and how it could help others. Not that the O’Briens didn’t donate regularly to quite a few charities already. But where did you draw the line? Even if they were willing to give away every penny they had it still wouldn’t be enough to save all the starving children of the world. Did that make him a bad guy? Probably. At least to her, it must. But he wasn’t going to back down.

Go pack your bags.

I will not.

You can’t stay here. Hell, you can’t even use the shower without water.

I can’t go to a hotel. It’s too expensive.

He sighed. Fine. You can stay in our guesthouse for a few days. The words had simply slipped out and he knew he was probably going to regret it.

And then what?

His brows shot up. What did she mean by that?

She obviously knew he didn’t understand. I mean, then where do I go?

He shrugged. I don’t know. And it wasn’t exactly his problem to figure out. Was it?

Nor do you care.

Ivy, what the hell is your problem?

"You are my problem. You and your brothers to be specific. She stood up straight, all sixty-three inches of her and gave him a look of defiance. My father surrendered this house to you. He lost everything. The house, his business, his life."

Ivy, that’s not fair. Owen knew her father’s story well and she had no business blaming him for Sam’s death. Som Phong Lin had moved to the states from Thailand when he was a boy of fourteen, determined to build a better life than the one his parents had. At twenty-one he’d changed his name to Sam Bangkok and married Ann Miller from Pittsburgh. Though, Ivy’s mother had died of cancer when Ivy was four and her sister Charlotte only a baby.

Sam had once owned a successful business that manufactured typewriters among other things. Everyone knew why it had eventually failed. While a few people still loved the old fashioned machines, the computer industry had basically taken over.

After Sam had spent years in debt up to his eyebrows, and it was clear to him his company was not going to make a comeback, he’d hung himself in his garage last year.

Isn’t it? She gave him a challenging look. You have plenty of money. You didn’t have to ruin my father just so you could have more.

I didn’t . . . we didn’t ruin him. Sam refused to change. You of all people should know how stubborn he was. He could have closed the business and sold off the assets. Instead, he borrowed against this house. Had we owned the bank at that time, the loan would have been denied.

And so when he couldn’t make the payments you took it from him. You could have let him stay here to save face.

That’s not how things work and you know it. Besides, Sam didn’t want that. He was too proud. In fact, Owen had tried to talk to Sam about salvaging the little he had left. He could have sold the house and the business assets but he’d refused. But Ivy was determined to blame someone for what her father had done. Owen supposed he couldn’t condemn her for that. Losing a parent at any age was tough. Extremely emotional. He knew firsthand what that was like, having lost both his parents in an accident when he was seventeen. But suicide was a different matter altogether. People just couldn’t accept when a loved one took their own life. They needed something or someone to blame.

I’d like for you to leave now.

Owen blinked at her. Was she crazy? Had she not heard a word he’d said? The house belonged to the bank. His bank. And he was not going to allow her to stay here.

Ivy. He gave her a scornful look. Don’t make things more difficult for yourself than they have to be. Accept my invitation to stay in our guesthouse until you decide what you’re going to do next.

What I’m going to do next is to sue your ass.

He nearly choked. Sue me? For what?

For taking advantage of my father.

He wanted to laugh but because he knew she was probably hurting he refrained. Like any judge is going to take you seriously.

I’m willing to settle out of court if that will make things easier for you.

Again, was she crazy, or what? Oh, I just bet you are.

Only because of Mack. Because of our friendship.

Rolling his eyes, he shifted his weight from one leg to another as he continued to stare at her with disbelief. She had a lot of nerve. Maybe he should just call Grady now and put an end to this charade.

Give me a number. And it had better have at least seven figures in it. She had a haughty attitude now.

I’m not going to give you a number. I don’t owe you a damn thing.

Oh, I think you do.

Really? And why is that?

She shook a finger at him. Unh, unh. You expect me to just hand over the smoking gun? Forget it.

Smoking gun? Okay, he’d had enough. He started to dig his cell from his back pocket. I’m calling the cops.

A look of alarm washed over her pretty face. No wait. She rushed forward, stood about six inches away and looked up at him with glowing eyes. Owen, please. Work with me here. Tell me how I can change your mind. She batted her lashes at him. Was she coming on to him? Did he dare play along?

Are you propositioning me?

That depends. Would that work?

Hell no. Maybe. There was only one way to find out.

He closed the distance between them and pulled her face up to his, dipping his head in for a kiss. He touched her lips gently at first before moving his mouth over hers. He then pushed his tongue into her mouth, tasting, swirling. She held perfectly still for the longest time and then her body relaxed and her tongue mixed with his. Her arms came around his neck, pulling him closer. She smelled like jasmine and tasted like mint. His emotions whirled and skidded. He had a burning desire, an aching need, for more, as a certain part of his anatomy could attest.

A moan escaped her throat and she began to kiss him with more intensity. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was certain of it. He ran his hands along her back, down across her buttocks, kneading and caressing the firm mounds of flesh through the denim of her jeans. Pulling her up against him he wanted there to be no mistake about what he wanted. Needed. Another moan as she practically tried to climb up his leg, rubbing her sex against his thigh in the process.

His hand snaked up beneath her T-shirt, over her satiny smooth skin and squeezed a small globe, toyed with her nipple through the silky fabric of her bra. He pinched it lightly, and then applied a little more pressure.

Owen. His name was a whisper against his lips and then she was kissing him again, running her fingers through his hair. Then her hands began to explore his back, his butt.

He’d always wondered what it would be like to slip between those sexy thighs, fuck her until she was breathless, though he’d kept his distance all those years because of his sister. And because he’d always thought Ivy was an immature, spoiled brat.

Although he wanted to fuck her now. But was he really going to do it here? In this musty smelling house? They needed to stop. He needed to stop. To gain control of his senses. He wasn’t in high school, for Chrissakes. He knew better.

But he wanted her. She wanted him. And then he did the unexpected. He lifted her over his shoulder, her butt next to his face and neck, and carried her out of the kitchen, through the hall and out the front door.

What are you doing? She pounded a fist in the middle of his back.

I told you. You can’t stay here.

Part of him had wanted to take her upstairs and have sex with her, but the sensible part had won out. He set her on her feet on the front porch. She tried to dart past him to go back inside, but he blocked the door with his body. Don’t make me call the cops.

You bastard! She hit him square in the chest with the heel of her hand. Then she took a swing at his face with her fist, but he managed to grab her by the wrist before she did any kind of damage. She swung at him with her other hand, but he dismantled her, holding both her arms behind her back so she had no leverage. She was face to face with him now and she wasn’t going anywhere. But that didn’t stop her from kneeing him in the groin.

What the fuck! Owen let go of her, leaned forward to catch his breath. He literally saw stars. Through watery eyes he noticed Ivy was about to run back inside when he heard something or someone behind her.

Ivy?

2

At the sound of her name being called, Ivy jerked her head to the side and saw her little sister standing on the walk, holding a baby in her arms. Charlotte? Oh my God! Is that Emmy ?

Ignoring Owen, who was bent forward at the waist, sucking in air and wheezing like he was about to take his last breath, she bounced down the porch steps and ran to greet her sister. She hadn’t seen her in more than a year. And she’d never met her ten-month-old niece Emerson. Charlotte and her husband Rob called her Emmy. Of course they’d texted and emailed photos of the little darling, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in the flesh for the first time.

Yes. This is your niece. Charlotte frowned. "So, you weren’t even planning on telling me you were home? I had to hear it from Gabby Showalter who said she