Bravo Unwrapped

For the first time, as she rode through the nighttime streets of uptown Manhattan, she actually considered quitting Alpha.

But the magazine—and her dream of running the whole enterprise someday—had been her life. She simply wasn’t ready to walk away from it.

Not yet.

Not ever.

And because she wasn’t ready to walk out, she was off to California at ten tomorrow morning.

Off to California, with Buck…

Not twelve hours later, B.J., Buck and Lupe Martinez—sleek and exotic as always in her trademark black—took off from Teterboro for Reno.

B.J. kept to herself during the plane ride. She sat at the opposite end of the cabin from Buck and Lupe, put on a pair of headphones and tried to zone out with the help of her trusty iPod. She did her best not to seethe—not too much, anyway. She composed a long series of e-mails to Giles on her laptop, instructions on how to handle the various challenges he’d be facing while she was away, notes on priorities, on whom to deal with immediately and whom he could safely ignore for a while. Between e-mails, she shut her eyes, leaned back and concentrated on letting go of her anger and frustration. Anger meant tension and tension seemed to trigger unpleasant activity in her pregnancy-sensitized stomach.

She did understand that she would have to work through her rage and get past it; it would be pretty difficult to get Buck’s story if she refused to talk to him. Besides, who was she kidding? In the next few months she’d be talking to him, anyway—about his upcoming fatherhood.

Though she’d never given a thought to having kids before, now that B.J. found herself pregnant, she’d discovered she actually wanted the baby.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t so hot at the male/female relationship thing. She’d accepted the fact that she would probably never marry. This could very well be her one chance to have a baby and she was grabbing it—even though it was bound to wreak serious havoc on her career.

She’d manage, somehow. She had an embarrassingly large trust fund, courtesy of L.T., so money would be no problem. She’d hire nannies. The best that her nice, fat fortune could buy.

And since Buck was the dad, she probably would have to deal with him. How much would depend on how large a part he intended to play in her baby’s life.

And no, she wasn’t telling him the big news yet. No way. She needed to get through this trip with him, get the damn feature written. Until that was done, she refused to complicate the situation with him any further.

In Reno, a rental SUV awaited them. They piled their bags and all of Lupe’s equipment in the back and climbed in. Buck took the wheel and Lupe jumped right in behind him, leaving the front passenger seat for B.J.—if she wanted it. She didn’t. However, she did need to practice being civil to Buck.

So she hopped in front and sent Buck a quick, bland smile. There. Civil. Sort of. And that was certainly enough cordiality for now. He started up the car and she aimed her gaze straight ahead.

The ride to Buck’s hometown took over an hour. B.J. watched the impressive scenery roll past. Especially after they left Nevada’s high desert behind, it was gorgeous out there. The bare hills and scrubby trees gave way to tall evergreens and sharp, dramatic stone peaks. Overhead, the sky was a pale wash of clear blue. No snow, except higher up than the road ever took them, on the topmost peaks. They wound down the mountains, into the green, shady depths of canyons and then back up to sub-alpine heights, where the trees grew farther apart, white-barked and twisted-looking, and the gray ground lay littered with silvery rock.

Lupe kept up a steady stream of chatter from the back seat—about the “crystalline” quality of the light, about how she wouldn’t mind pulling an Ansel Adams and doing her own series on the Sierras in dramatic black and white.

Buck answered Lupe’s occasional questions, but other than that, he didn’t say much. B.J. kept quiet, as well. She avoided turning Buck’s way. She might be slowly allowing herself to adjust to the reality of this situation, to accept the fact that she was headed for New Bethlehem Flat whether she liked the idea or not. But she still wasn’t quite ready yet to have anything resembling an actual conversation with him.

They reached Buck’s hometown at a little after four in the afternoon. B.J. got a quick view of a picturesque mountain village as they rounded a curve. And then they were winding their way down into a valley—or really, maybe more like a big canyon. The highway became Main Street, which consisted of a strip of pavement lined with cute old-fashioned buildings, some of clapboard, some of brick, each with a jut of porch providing cover for the rustic wooden sidewalks.

Buck turned right on Commerce Lane. They rattled over a single-lane bridge and there, on the west side of the street, sat a rambling canary-yellow wooden building with a sharply pitched tin roof. The front yard had a slate walk leading up to a wide, welcoming porch—a porch complete with oh-so-inviting white wicker furniture. There was even a white picket fence. The large sign hanging from the porch eaves read Sierra Star Bed & Breakfast in old-timey script, the letters twined with painted ivy.

Buck swung in and parked at the curb as the front door of the house opened. A tall, slim middle-aged woman with short brown hair emerged. She wore a green corduroy skirt, a cable-knit sweater and practical flat shoes. Strictly L.L. Bean, B.J. thought: no frills, all function.

B.J. recognized the woman from pictures Buck had shown her way back when: Chastity Bravo, mother of Buck and his three younger brothers, Brett, Brand and Bowie. B.J. turned and looked straight at the man in the driver’s seat for the first time that day. “Your mother…”

He gave her a nod and she had the strangest urge to smile at him—an urge she quickly quelled. He was getting no smiles from her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

By then, Buck’s mother had reached the low white gate that opened onto the narrow cracked sidewalk. She hovered there, her hands on the pickets, waiting for them to emerge from the car.

When they did, Chastity smiled, a slow, warm smile—a smile a lot like Buck’s, though not nearly so dangerous. “Welcome to the Sierra Star,” she said in a voice as calm and friendly as her smile. “Good to have you home, Buck.”

“Hey, Ma.” Buck strode around the front of the SUV and fell in behind B.J. and Lupe. When he cleared the gate, he grabbed his mother in his big arms and hugged her, hard. “Good to be home,” he said, lifting her right off the walk and rocking back and forth.

She let out a cry of surprise. “Buck, you put me down this instant!”

Now, there was a weird moment: watching Buck hugging his mother. Yes, B.J. had seen the pictures. She’d known that a mother—and those three brothers—existed. But still…

Odd. Very odd.

Maybe it was just that she was used to a certain idea of him, as a guy all on his own, unattached in every way that mattered.

Once the hugging was over with and he’d set his mother back on the ground, Buck threw an arm around her and they started up the walk together. By then, Lupe had already mounted the steps and stood waiting by the front door.

B.J. hung back, pondering the whole Buck-has-a-mother thing—until he sent her a glance over his shoulder. “B.J. You coming?” She shook herself and followed them to the front door.

Inside, the foyer boasted a pressed-tin ceiling and classic beadboard paneling painted a nice, fresh-looking white. Cheerful rag rugs covered the scuffed hardwood floors. The drawing room off the entrance contained lots of chintz and plaid furniture, an excess of fat pillows and mismatched antiques.

The effect was far from luxurious. Still, B.J. found it kind of comforting. Homey and welcoming. Already the sun had fallen behind the mountains, leaving it kind of gray outside and dim within, but Chastity had turned the lamps on and a cheery fire burned in the stone fireplace.

Buck made the introductions.

“B.J. How nice to finally meet you,” Chastity said, leaving B.J. to wonder just how much Buck’s mother knew about their disaster of a love affair six years before.

“Uh. Great to meet you, too.” She forced a friendly smile. “We should bring in our things….”

So they all headed back outside again. B.J. and Chastity each grabbed a couple of suitcases and trudged back to the house, leaving Buck and Lupe behind to sort out the rest.

“This way…” Chastity led B.J. upstairs to her room, which contained a queen-sized bed, nightstand and dresser and had enough room for a small sitting area. A tall armoire hid the TV. Not far from the head of the bed, French doors led out to a balcony and a gorgeous view: the rushing river behind the house and the evergreen-clad mountains rising skyward to the west.

B.J.—work, as always, foremost in her mind—cast a doubtful glance at the spindly-legged desk in the corner. “Internet access?” she asked hopefully. She didn’t see anything resembling a data port. Maybe wireless?

“Not in the room,” Chastity confessed. “But if you want to use my computer, you’re welcome to. I have the Internet. Don’t do much with it, I admit. I don’t have time to sit around and wait for those pages to come on the screen. Takes forever and a day—I’m a busy woman, you know.” She added the last briskly, with pride.

B.J. got the picture. Not pretty. “You mean you have…dial-up?” She tried not to shudder. Chastity looked at her vacantly. B.J. tried again. “You dial in to hook up?”

“Yes, I think that’s it.”

So much for zipping off her long, helpful e-mails to Giles. She’d call him. Later.

An ugly thought occurred to her. “What about cell phones? Do they work around here?”

“Now and then.” The twin lines between Chastity’s brows—lines that cried out for a little Botox—deepened even further. “Well, the truth is, not that often. The canyon walls block the signals.” She gestured toward the window and the rim of tree-covered mountains across the river. “People around here who just have to have cell phones take them up there. Reception’s pretty good once you get out of the canyon.”

B.J. considered the concept: climb a mountain, make a call. “You know what? Maybe not.”

Chastity shrugged. “But we do have regular phones.” She pointed at the land line on the dinky desk. It was big and bone-colored, an early push-button model. “They work just fine.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“Come on, then. I’ll show you your bathroom.”

The bath was down the hall. But at least it was all hers—Chastity told her so. B.J. reminded herself to be grateful for small favors. It had a sink, a toilet and a claw-footed tub with a tall, added-on shower head and a flowered curtain that could be drawn all the way around.

And most important, she wouldn’t have to share it with Lupe—or worse, with Buck.

Buck and the photographer came up with the second load of suitcases and equipment. Chastity showed them their rooms. Buck got one next to B.J.’s. Now, why wasn’t she surprised?

“Make yourself comfortable,” Buck suggested, dark eyes much too knowing. “And then I’ll show you around town.”

“Wonderful,” said B.J., meaning it wasn’t, but what could she do? “Give me ten minutes.”

He cast a doubtful glance at her open-toed leopard print Manolos. “Got any decent walking shoes?”

“I can walk anywhere in these,” she replied, just to be difficult. Then she relented. “Okay, okay. I’ll change into something more clunky and hideous.”

“Do that.”

He went into his room. She stared at the door he’d shut behind him and thought a series of evil thoughts. Eventually, when glaring at his door failed to make it burst into flames, she gave up and went into her own room.

First things first: time to unpack.

B.J. loved living large. Though she was perfectly capable of traveling light if the situation demanded it, she preferred lots of options when it came to what to wear. For this trip, she’d brought four full-sized suitcases and a couple of smaller ones for her vanity items.

No worries, though. She was extremely efficient. She could pack half her closet in no time—and unpack it again in less than that. Swiftly, she put things away in the drawers and filled the narrow closet. She even trotted down the hall and put her grooming products away in her bathroom.

With two minutes to spare, B.J. pulled on some jeans and a pair of low-heeled knee-high Michael Kors suede boots—not hideous in the least, actually. But a girl has to score her points where she can. There was a tap at the door. B.J. scowled. Buck, no doubt. Ready to give her the guided tour. Oh, the joy. She grabbed her shearling jacket and answered the knock.

And there he was, wearing jeans and boots and a flannel shirt, looking scrumptiously rugged and far too smug. “Ready?”

She opened her mouth to say something snippy—and a blood-curdling scream erupted from the first floor. “What in God’s name was that?”

But Buck had already turned and headed for the stairs.

Four

B.J. took off after Buck as another piercing scream echoed up the stairwell.

“I won’t!” a woman shouted. “I will not. No way!” Another scream followed, fading right in on top of the words.

A man spoke—roughly, and low enough that B.J. couldn’t make out what he said.

The woman screamed again.

“Now, settle down, Glory.” That was Chastity’s calm, level voice. “Bowie. Back off.”

By then, Buck had cleared the stairs and was striding toward the living room. B.J., right behind him, glanced back and saw Lupe coming down after them. Lupe always wore about twenty silver bangle bracelets on each arm. They jingled together as she took the steps two at a time. “What’s going on?” she demanded, kohl-lined black eyes wide with surprise.

As if B.J. knew.

In the living room, they found Chastity in front of the fireplace, legs braced apart, fisted hands planted hard on her hips. Behind her crouched a petite, dark-eyed brunette.

“No, Bowie,” the brunette cried. “No, no, no!” She peered through the crook in Chastity’s left elbow, gripping hunks of Chastity’s chunky sweater in either hand, using Buck’s mother as a human shield against the strapping, shaggy-haired mountain-man type over by the window.

“Your brother?” B.J. asked Buck out of the corner of her mouth, tipping her head toward the mountain man.

“’Fraid so,” said Buck, sounding midway between amused and resigned.

Even without Buck’s confirmation, B.J. would have pegged the guy as a Bravo. Beneath a couple of days’ worth of beard, he had that telltale cleft in his chin—not to mention that beautifully shaped, way-too-sexy mouth. “Glory,” Bowie said, his tone gentle and careful—the look in his eyes anything but. “Come on, honey…” He took a step toward his mother and the little brunette who cowered behind her.

Not wise.

The brunette let out another wake-the-dead shriek.

“Glory,” groaned Chastity, putting a hand to her left ear—the one nearest Glory’s wide-open mouth. “Cut that out. You’re breaking my eardrums.”

“Well, I can’t help it,” Glory wailed. “I just can’t.” She spoke to Buck’s brother again. “Get it through that thick head of yours. I will not marry you. Ever. You don’t love me. You only say you do because you think you have to.”

“No, damn it. That’s not true. I do love—”

“You don’t.” The brunette bit her trembling lip and shook her head. “Oh, Bowie. You’d make a terrible husband.” She edged out from behind Chastity. “We both have to face it. You’re wild and irresponsible and…and you can’t keep a job.” With that, she burst into tears and buried her head in her hands.

Bowie, looking about a mile out of his depth and sinking fast, tried again. “Honey. I do love you. And I’ll get a damn job.”

Glory threw back her head and screamed some more.

B.J. winced at the piercing sound. She slid another glance at Buck. “What’s this about?”

“Hey. Don’t ask me. I just got here myself.”

“I don’t care who knows,” Glory wailed. “I don’t care that the whole town’ll be talking. It’s nothing to me what anyone says. I said no. I meant no—and I will never change my mind!”

“That’s it,” said Bowie. “Damn it, I’ve had it.”

Whimpering, Glory scooted back behind Chastity. “Don’t you dare come near me, you big lunk.”

Bowie made a sound like an injured moose. Then he pointed a threatening finger at the sobbing brunette. “You will marry me, Glory. By God, I’ll get a ring on that finger of yours if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“No, you—”

“Enough!” shouted Chastity, so loudly that both Bowie and Glory actually shut up. Into the lovely moment of silence, she commanded, “Bowie. Get out.”

“But Ma, she—”

“Out. Now.”

“Ma, she’s gotta—”

“I said, out.”

Mother and son glared at each other. Bowie blinked first. Chastity swept out a hand toward the front door. “Now.”

Muttering very bad words under his breath and shaking his big golden head, Bowie turned for the foyer. Buck, B.J. and Lupe were blocking the door. In unison, they each took a sliding step to the right, into the room—and out of Bowie’s way.

About then, Bowie noticed his brother. He paused in midstride. “Hey. Buck.” His dark look brightened. “How the hell you been?”

“Good to see you, little brother.”

“Bowie,” Chastity warned on a rising inflection.

Bowie scowled again. “Awright, awright.” He clapped Buck on the shoulder. “Good to have you home.” And he trudged on by and out the front door—slamming it good and hard behind him.

Chastity clucked her tongue. “That boy. He’ll be the death of me, I swear.” She turned to Glory. “You okay, honey?”

“Oh, Mrs. B.” Glory burst into a fresh flood of weeping.

Chastity gathered the girl into her capable arms and spoke over her head to Buck and the two women flanking him. “If we could have a few minutes…”

Buck nodded. “B.J. and I were heading out, anyway.”

Lupe cast a nervous glance at the still-sobbing Glory. “I’m going with you—wait. I want to grab a camera…”

B.J. spoke up before Buck could argue. “Good idea.” She beamed Lupe a big smile—and sent a defiant look in Buck’s direction. “We’ll be out on the porch.” Lupe took off up the stairs and B.J. followed Buck out.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Buck warned, as they waited on the steps for Lupe to join them.

“Probably not.” B.J. wrapped her jacket tighter against the late-afternoon chill. “But I’m giving it my best shot.”

“We have to talk.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“If you’d taken just one of my damn calls—”

She waved a hand. “I know, I know. Maybe you wouldn’t have found it necessary to manipulate me into coming here.”

“I didn’t manipulate you.”

“Hah.”

“I had a story you wanted. To get it, you paid the price I set.”

“As I said, you manipulated me into coming here.”

“You could have turned down the story…” He sent her one of those looks—intimate, dangerous. “Or maybe not. Maybe you couldn’t turn it down. After all, anything for Alpha, right?”

As if she’d deny it. “That’s right. Anything. Even a week in the sticks with you.”

“A week?” His breath plumed on the air. “I don’t know. This job is likely to take a lot more than a week….”

More than a week? To cover her dismay, she stuck her hands in her pockets and laid on the sarcasm. “Now you’ve really got me scared.”

He moved in closer—too close, really. But she had her pride. Damned if he’d make her step back. He asked, “Did you notice?”

“What?”

“You’re actually talking to me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He loomed closer still, close enough that she could feel his breath across her cheek, marvel at the thickness of his lashes over those damn night-dark eyes of his. “You’re not scaring me off.” He spoke the threat tenderly. “Not this time.”

She held her ground. “Watch me.”

“I am. I do.”

The door behind them opened and Lupe appeared, a black pea coat flung over her black jeans and short-sleeved black sweater. Her bangles jingled as she held up a Nikon. “Ready.”

B.J., deeply grateful for the photographer’s timely appearance, flashed her a blinding smile.

Buck muttered, “Fine. Let’s go.” He led the way across the bridge to Main Street.

As they strolled along the town’s major street, Buck played tour guide. He pointed out landmarks: the post office, the school on a rise one street over, the hardware emporium, the town hall, the firehouse. Three gift stores, a beauty shop, two restaurants. He showed them the bars, of which there were also two—one on either side of the street. And the Catholic church on the hill behind the school. Lupe got several shots of the white clapboard building sporting one central spire and nestled so prettily in a copse of autumn-orange maple trees. There was also a Methodist church, Buck told them, farther up Commerce Lane from Chastity’s B & B.

Everybody seemed to know him. It was “Buck, how you been?” and “Buck, nice to have you home again,” and “Great to see you back in town.” Some had even read his book.

One grizzle-haired old fellow perched on a bench outside the grocery store asked him when he was going to write a book about “the Flat,” as the locals called it. “Now, there’s a book that needs writin’.” The old character winked at B.J.

“One of these days, Tony,” Buck promised.

“You be sure to come and talk to me before you put down a single word,” Tony warned, turning his bald head this way and that, hamming it up for the camera as Lupe snapped shot after shot. “I got all the best stories—and I can tell you where all the bodies are buried…if you know what I mean.” He wiggled his bushy white eyebrows.

“Tony, you know you’re the first one I’ll come see.”

The old guy nodded, looking gratified. “I’ll hold you to it, see if I don’t.” He winked again at B.J.—and then at Lupe, too. “I like a pretty woman. Which one of these is yours?”

Buck sent B.J. a far too intimate look. She pretended not to notice.

“Well?” prompted old Tony with a chuckle.

Lupe blew a midnight strand of hair out of her eye and brought her camera into position again. “Leave me out of it. I’m just here to take the pictures.”

“Ah,” said Tony, turning to size B.J. up. “You, then.”

“No. I’m not his—and he’s not mine.”

“You sound real definite about that,” said Tony. “Maybe too definite. So definite I’m wondering who you’re tryin’ to convince.” Tony did some more chuckling.

Buck stepped in and made the introductions. “Tony Dellazola, this is B. J. Carlyle and Lupe Martinez.”

“Well, I am pleased to meet you both—so Buck. Tell me. You still livin’ in New York City?”

“That’s right.”

“Never been there, never will. It’s not healthy, folks livin’ all on top of each other that way. Like rats in a maze. They start chewin’ off their own tails.”

“Hey.” B.J. couldn’t let that remark pass. “I’m a New Yorker. You couldn’t pay me enough to live anywhere else.”

“And I like a good-lookin’ woman who knows her own mind,” declared old Tony. He pulled a toothpick from his shirt pocket, stuck it between his yellowed teeth, leaned back on the bench and asked Lupe, “What d’you need all those pictures for?”

Lupe kept shooting and let Buck answer for her. “We’re here to do an article for Alpha magazine.”

Tony snapped to attention. “What’s that? I’m gonna have my picture in Alpha magazine?”

“Could be.”

Tony thought it over. “Well. I suppose that’s okay with me. Alpha’s a fine magazine. Classy, you know? And those Alpha Girls…each one prettier’n the last, all of ’em wearing a nice, big friendly smile—and not a whole lot more.” He gave yet another cackling chuckle and then grew serious again. “You’ll send me a free copy so I’ll know I was in there?”