Here Comes Trouble Read Free

old age of thirty-two without a slew of what-ifs. But he’d bet very few lived with the haunting memory of what might have been with Sheila Tremayne. Looking out into the English-inspired garden below his grandmother’s terrace doors, however, he suspected this was as close to solace as he was ever going to get.
    The instant Malcolm returned to Lantano Valley every minute of the last five years pressed down on him, forcing him to struggle against the anger and resentment of the past even as he focused on his reason for coming home. The town he’d grown up in, the town he’d planned to grow old in, hadn’t changed much, save for the smattering of new businesses, reconstructed buildings, new faces. Returning from exile—what else could he call his exit?—had gone as anticipated. Malcolm’s hands fisted in his pockets, his jaw tight as he gnashed his teeth. The cold familial welcome both reassured him and spurred him in the direction of following through with his plans.
    Sheila Tremayne, however, was a woman no man could plan for.
    Within seconds of catching sight of that stunning, familiar figure, the thick tumble of blond waves, smooth gentle curves he remembered memorizing under teasing, anxious fingers, he realized he’d neglected to consider the effect seeing her again would have.
    Every cell in his body tingled as if her touch had been powered by a nuclear reactor. There had been something different, something permanent about Sheila that had settled inside of him from the time they started dating. Those six months had been his mental sanctuary the last few years; memories he could call upon when he needed to remind himself that the good things in life could outweigh the bad.
    How often had he caught himself dwelling on the girl who might have . . . No, that wasn’t right. Sheila was the girl who should have been. It hadn’t mattered that she was his best friend’s sister, or that he’d known her for years. He’d watched her grow from a stunning, curious teen into an elegant young woman with pinpoint concentration on the road ahead of her and more talent than a gallery full of artists. A lightning bolt of awareness had struck him dead center of his heart and burned the possibility of anyone else out of his life.
    Until life had altered course.
    Anger percolated like a short-circuiting sixties’ coffeemaker. Sheila had been one more thing that had been stolen from him, ripped away as if his life, his plans, his dreams, were nothing more than a hindrance to another’s.
    His phone vibrated, the buzzing as irritating as an over-stimulated bee. His doctor’s office number flashed on the screen, but he clicked it off, unwilling, or more likely unable to face what was waiting for him on the other end of the conversation.
    He pulled out the bottle of pills, shook one out, and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his grandmother’s nightstand as Alcina puttered in her dressing room. One thing his grandmother and father shared was their ability to make an entrance.
    Malcolm closed his eyes for a moment, took a long breath, and shifted his focus back on Lantano Valley. It would have been bad enough if the man responsible for Malcolm’s disgrace had been a stranger; a business rival, a jealous associate. That it was Malcolm’s own father who had orchestrated his downfall was the real tragedy. At least until one considered that Chadwick Oliver held no regret over his actions. Tragedy plus time made for the perfect revenge equation. His father had done what was necessary to achieve his endgame, including sacrificing his oldest son to the madness that would ensue.
    Malcolm had rebuilt, planned, and hacked away at his plan for revenge like a prisoner digging for his freedom. He was so close to getting what he wanted—he didn’t want to consider he might not have enough time to finish things. He thought he’d planned for every contingency, for every possible distraction and