Stealing Brynn

By Rowena Spark

When a young Kade saw Brynn, ten years old, dancing in the rain like it was hers to command, his gypsy blood sang with a timeless awareness that she was destined to belong to him.

These days, Brynn barely acknowledges his existence. All she knows is that he is trouble; his knuckles are scarred from fighting, he is h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leanne Poulter
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648908937

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BOOK ONE OF THE GYPSY HEART SERIES

Stealing Brynn

ROWENA SPARK

COPYRIGHT

PRUDENCE

By Rowena Spark

Please note: This is a work of fiction. Characters, places and incidents are fictitious.

Any resemblance to people, places or real situation are purely coincidental.

First published 2020

© Leanne Poulter All rights reserved.

No part of this book can be reproduced in any form, or by any means, graphic, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any storage retrieval system persons or entity without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in book reviews or critical articles related to the subject matter.

The author has made every effort to contact copyright holders for material used in this book.

Any persons or organisation that may may have been overlooked should contact the author.

NATIONAL LIBRARY OF AUSTRALIA

A catalogue record of this book is available from: www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN (print): 978-0-6489089-6-8

ISBN (eBook): 978-0-6489089-7-5

Editor: Sharyn Constantine

Cover Design: White Clover Creative

Cover Images: Shutterstock: Nikolas_jkd & Iaroslav Neliubov

Interior Design: White Clover Creative

Print typesetting and eBook production: Adobe Indesign

Chapter 1

Kade

I lean my elbows on the wooden handrails around my veranda and watch the last of the night burn down with the fiery oranges and pinks of dawn. My favourite part of the day. I imagine if I listen hard enough, I can hear a faint sound that vibrates over the world at the very moment night becomes day. I shiver when the temperature drops a couple of degrees as the sun chases away the remnant stale air of the old night.

Rebirth. New hope. I need this time each day to centre myself and reconnect with the earth. Chase away the thoughts and demons that crawl through my head every night and remind me that everything I care about turns to poison. Relentless voices in my mind telling me I’m not enough.

I draw a lungful of air in an attempt to erase the thought, clean my coffee mug and put it away with the rest of them. The set of six matching mugs mock me in their ordered white lines. The only time I use a second mug is when Mum comes to visit. Nobody else has set foot on my land in the years since I moved in just three months after my eighteenth birthday.

I love the farm. There’s something about it that makes me feel like I truly belong somewhere, and watching my cows fatten and my crops flourish is a soul deep nourishment. I slip on my torn, stained jeans, consider the weather and forgo the shirt, feeling the breeze tickle my skin as I work. I hitch up the post driver to my tractor, the faithful diesel chugging and growling in wait. It’s a perfect day to fence a new paddock.

***

You’re quiet. Mum murmurs, running her hand down my spine.

I drag my hand over my face and blink up at her, watching her lips thin. This is why I love Mum. Just a glance and she understands. I don’t have to try to explain the often overwhelming storm of turbulent emotions just beneath my skin. They’re feelings I don’t recognise in other people, as if they have managed to trap them all away deep inside and not have to feel the heaviness of sadness or the sting of hurt. Or if Mum is truly right, nobody else has them in the first place, at least not the way I do.

"You have to talk, Kade. You need to open your mouth and use that voice of yours. Nobody can read minds, and you’re not doing yourself any favors hiding in the shadows."

I shuffle in the seat, shifting my gaze to the cup of tea she set before me.

You know that’s not me. That’s what you had Daryl for, to do all the social things I won’t. I snap.

My jaw clamps on his name. Daryl. My little brother and golden child, blonde haired, blue eyed heir to the Walker Empire.

Mum’s breath sinks her shoulders as she lowers beside me on the couch. With a silent glance, I apologise for my tone and she accepts with a gentle pat of my knee. The light from the window glints off her favourite ring and I touch the green stone, running my fingers over it the way I always do. Father hates that she refuses to take it off. Although he constantly showers her with diamonds, all she ever wears is her wedding band, and this intricately designed green sapphire.

You need to start somewhere, Kade.  You can’t shut yourself away from the world on that farm of yours just because you’re afraid of the pain. At some point you’ll need to learn how to stop reacting so aggressively and driving people away. Sometimes, no matter how debilitating the hurt might be, it’s worth it.

Her eyes shimmer and I know she’s immersed in her own secret pain. One we used to share before she stopped talking about it.

Or I did. I can’t remember any more. The more I felt rejected, the less I spoke, so maybe I was the one who let the topic of our shared past slip away.

I’m not like Daryl at all. Social gatherings make me uncomfortable; the trite conversations leave my feet itching with the urge to escape. What my head thinks rarely falls off my tongue the same way. Whatever I say when I step from my comfort zone carries the sharp defensive tone almost always mistaken for aggression. I open my mouth and watch faces recoil in horror or disgust, strangers forming their conclusions before I can take another breath. Sometimes I’m even grateful to Father for excluding me from the family responsibilities, making excuses for my absences where he deems appropriate. These days, my lack of presence isn’t often remarked upon since anyone who’s anyone knows I’m the black sheep of the family. They all have different stories of my violence, or my unlawful behaviour, but they don’t understand that sometimes the only law some men respect is the one with hard knuckles.

But I can never seem to shake that persistent, niggling awareness that reminds me that everyone I dare to love turns their back on me. At first I thought I’d imagined the prickle of detachment emanating from Father, but it was only when my little brother came along that I finally realised the truth of it. Father would glare at me, reprimand me for the slightest faults, and he’d save every one of his smiles for Daryl. No matter the lengths I’d go to to win his affection, it only served to heighten his resentment towards me.

Father wasn’t the first to find me lacking, and he wasn’t the last.

They all know the story of the copper’s son whose jaw I fractured, but none of them seemed to remember the underage girl I pulled sobbing from his car and returned safely home before I was taken away in handcuffs. I should have told the cops what really happened, but Bella made me swear I wouldn’t tell.

Even as a younger man, I kept my word. I think Mum suspected there was more to the story, but she just looked at me like she always does, with that expression of pain that twists my gut, and kept her mouth closed.

I lift my face to her and find her eyes still on mine. She’s elegant and cultured, as is expected of the wife of Antony Walker, but sometimes I catch a glimpse of the carefree and wild woman I know she used to be. She hides it well, yet often, when she’s alone, she unlocks the box inside her and sets it free for a few stolen moments.

I’ll try, Mum. I love you.

She answers with a kiss to my temple.

***

I don’t know what possesses me to torture myself in the frosty company of the prejudiced townsfolk, but I drive into town anyway. Parking behind the small cluster of shops, I walk to the cafe, hands shoved in jeans, head bent to the ground to avoid the stares. There’s judgement in every sideways glance, some who already know the texture of my knuckles, and others who made up their minds about me from the juicy titbits of gossip they hear. Regardless, they’re either wrong or guilty, but it doesn’t stop the sting.

Usual, Kade? The gentle voice sends the knot to my throat, even with my signature scowl firmly in place.

Sometimes I think Mrs. Curtis and Bella are the only people besides Mum in this miserable town brave enough to make up their own minds about me. They watch me sometimes with a sadness that makes it seem like they talk about me when I’m not around, but neither of them say anything to me. And Bella; the girl I saved? Mrs Curtis’ daughter grew into a lovely girl. And she’s Brynn’s best friend.

Brynn. We used to be inseparable, Brynn, Daryl and me. As kids there wasn’t a free moment Brynn wasn’t in our house, or we were at her’s. Funny how time changes things. These days, there’s nothing but bitterness and resentment between Daryl and me, and Brynn may as well be a stranger to me. She doesn’t even spare me a glance anymore.

Bella carries my order to where I’m sprawled in a booth to wait.

Here y’are Kade. Mum says it’s on the house if you stop scaring away the customers with that growly face. Bella holds the takeaway mug just out of reach, eyebrow quirked.

My lips twitch, my scowl softening as I shoot a look at Mrs. Curtis who stands facing me with arms crossed and wide smile. When I reach out, Bella moves my coffee further away, tut-tutting.

I feel my mouth curve, rubbing the nape of my neck as I scrutinise Bella.

You women play dirty. You know I’m not human until I have my coffee. Slowly I relent, showing my teeth and flicking my obvious reluctance between the pair.

Mrs. Curtis chuckles and turns her attention to a customer while Bella relinquishes my reward. She sinks into the chair opposite me, regret making her eyes shimmer.

I glare at her and keep my mouth shut.

Why do you insist on hiding under this arsehole exterior as if you prefer the town’s prejudice, Kade? She sighs, and I shrug, dropping my eyes to the table.

People believe what they like, Bell. I can’t change that. Futility crawls in my throat, and I bid goodbye by dropping a twenty on the table.

I lean against the tree trunk, sipping my drink and taking in the quiet streets of Corymbia. Lined with the ancient intertwining limbs of the flowering gums the area is famous for, it’s a place I can’t seem to want to leave, even though it would be best for everyone if I did. I’m bound to it as if it were an artery, and no matter what the townsfolk think of me, I know I will die here.

It’s Wednesday afternoon and nothing much happens in this sleepy Australian town nestled in the foothills of Victoria’s Gippsland region. Nothing happening except…my spine straightens.

Brynn’s old faded blue sedan pulls into her usual parking spot with one brake light out, and my hands curl into fists. She should have had that fixed weeks ago. That old primal urge to keep her safe pushes against my skin, and it’s all I can do not to make the call to arrange a mechanic for her. But it’s not my place. It used to be. I used to be the one she ran to when she needed help. Then one day she simply stopped reaching out to me, and in the years since, I never once stopped missing it. The intrinsic need to be the reason she feels safe enough to smile is an ache that won’t die.

I stand straighter, lungs bursting with anticipation as she steps out of her car.

It wouldn’t be too hard to overlook her beaten up car considering all the similar beaten up cars and battered farm utes around her, but once she appears, it’s as if the air itself shifts and gravitates towards her. Brynn is breathtaking. No longer the kid who used to tackle me with fire and fury when I’d tug her ponytail, she’s now a woman with delicate curves that make my fingers burn. She wears jeans like a second skin, molded to the swell of her hips and the graceful dip of her waist. Her short top lifts up enough to give me a tantalising flash of bare skin when she pats her hair; thick, dark brown tresses she still ties back in a ponytail. And I still want to tug it. I still burn to watch her eyes ignite as her spirit fights defiantly, because that seems to be what’s missing from her these days.

Eyes of deep violet scan the streets, and as usual, they pass right through me. I swallow my disappointment as I watch on, see her delicate features, exotic and perfect like an angel, searching for something.

Me?

If I remind her, will she remember the day when she was ten and I was sixteen, when she danced with me in the storm, soaked to the skin and covered in mud like she was born from the earth itself? Will she remember the way she held me and laughed like she’d never known such happiness? Did she even know that it was the same instant she crashed into my heart?

She’s standing there, all alone. Brynn should never be alone. She should have someone at her side, feeling the warmth of her skin, giving her a reason to laugh and setting her spirit free. Pulse thumping through my veins, I push off the tree and walk towards her. She’s looking the other way when I cross the street, and I swipe my damp palms over my jeans, eyes zeroed in on her.

When I’m two parked cars away, she turns her head and smiles, and my feet refuse to move me forward any further. It’s an expression I breathe for, the upward curl of those delicate lips, the way her chin lifts in pleasure. I can almost feel her excited exhalation from where I stand. Her face is transformed by an adoration that should send me crazy with joy, but instead drives a dagger deep in my heart and gives a sharp twist.

She’s not looking at me. She hasn’t even noticed me, even though I’m the closest person to her. There’s a man crossing the road, a wholesome smile lighting his features, and that special expression on her face is just for him. My jaw clamps on the pain that threatens to escape.

Brynn closes her car door, scooting around her bonnet to intercept him. Still, she doesn’t see me.

Hello, Brynn. I hear him say in his educated tone.

She falls into step beside him, and my fists ball as I watch them walk away. They make a beautiful pair, even if it pains me to admit it. They are a perfect contrast. Ebony and ivory, his deep voice and her birdsong notes weaving together in a kind of harmony I’ll never be a part of.

I ache to chase him down, explain with my fists that he needs to leave her alone, but I can’t. I bleed helplessness, because even though she isn’t supposed to, Brynn gives too much of her heart to him. I see it in the tilt of her head and the way her shoulders curve towards him as they talk, and wish I wasn’t so tuned in to her.

For too many years I’ve listened to the gossip, about how endearing it is that two children could make a promise of forever to each other, and keep it, cultivating it into the kind of romance that you only ever read about in fairytales. I can’t shut out the image of the two of them, hand in hand, sharing looks. Those memories haunt me as I lie in bed each night, feeling like there’s no way out of the mess I’m in.

Because she’s supposed to be mine, but she thinks she’s in love with my brother.

Chapter 2

Brynn

I sit on Bella’s bed, silently watching as she expertly applies make up and shimmies into a short black dress. She’s the blonde bombshell with pure intentions everyone loves to hate, but there’s nothing you can hate about Bella. She’s all heart and insight and ever since she shared her chocolate biscuits with me in kindergarten, we’ve been inseparable. Probably would be for life. She tells it the way she sees it, and she understands that I’m strong willed, and not hostile and stubborn like my parents insist I am. We have each other’s back, Bella and me, and neither of us will leave the other behind.

She dresses up to feel good when she dances, not to trawl for attention. That’s another thing I love about her. I’ve no fear she’ll ditch me when the pretty boys start closing in. Like me, she’s not about to leap into a meaningless romp with some big-mouthed jock to pass the time. She’s waiting for something real.

Not that I have a choice in the matter. My parents refuse to lift their ridiculous curfew, even though I’m over eighteen.  I’ve hovered on the precipice of rebellion for years, but the respect drummed into me since birth always won out in the end. It frustrates me that I’m a perpetual child in their eyes, forever the scamp who loves farm work and doesn’t mind being covered in mud, instead of seeing me as a young woman who finds genuine satisfaction in physical labour.

When they made the decision to invite shareholders in on their farm to expand their production, I assumed they’d relax a little. With the extra money they were able to pocket from their success, I thought they’d learn to live a little, but the only thing it did change was the behaviour they expected of me. No longer was it adorable when I fell asleep in the barn. That was no longer acceptable from the daughter of a now notable family. And I certainly wasn’t at liberty to attend school parties where I might get drunk and embarrass them.

Oh my god, Bell, you look divine. I breathe as Bella spins in front of me.

Her smile sinks into a frown.

Oh, why can’t you come too? Just once, Bry? You never get to have any fun.

I roll my eyes.

Apparently I’m supposed to be locked in the highest tower with my maidenhood protected until my prince decides it’s time to fetch me.

Bella wrinkles her nose.

Seriously, Brynn. You’re twenty. You’re officially an adult, and you’re still not allowed out. It’s ridiculous. You know I love your parents, Bry, but if you don’t start coming out and having a bit of fun, you’ll be a fifty year old spinster who’s never been to a party!

My lungs deflate noisily.

Bella slips her arm over my shoulder, her voice dropping.

Listen, Bry, why don’t you tell them you’re staying the night with me? You can wear something of mine, you can go to the party and shower again before you go home in the morning? They’ll never know.

Famous last words right there! You may as well have said ‘what could possibly go wrong?’! I snag the white linen pillow and toss it at Bella.

Daryl will be there… her sings coyly.

My body locks.

Are you sure? How do you know?

"Oh, I might have heard Alice invite him, and I may have still been eavesdropping when he agreed…" She baits me with a wicked grin.

Throwing myself backwards onto the queen bed, I groan.

Alice? No! Daryl can’t be interested in Alice! What else did he say? Bella? He said more, didn’t he?

Bella twists a wisp of ash blonde hair into place and pins it. She turns then, eyes of brown coloured with sympathy.

You know what men are like, Brynn. He told Alice he’d go if she’d meet him in the spare bedroom. I’m sorry, Bry.

A lump lodges in my throat. I heard the boys all through school talk about sampling the goods before finding one to settle down with. I know Daryl is different, knowing him all my life I’m certain of that, but Bella’s admission brings a ball of queasy uncertainty to my stomach. I mean, Daryl and I aren’t even ‘official’.  I guess that means he’s single and free to sow his wild oats, and it seems that whenever I spot him lately, Alice isn’t far behind. I get the awful impression that he might be interested in her. Unless I convince him otherwise.

Bella lowers to the bed, gripping my thigh.

Come on, Bry. Mum will cover for us. You can come to the party, take Alice’s place in the bedroom, and kiss the ever loving sense out of him! One kiss from you and he’ll be hooked, I just know it!

A wicked shiver of rebellion silences my whining. Because there’s one thing I love more than my parents, and that’s Daryl Walker. Blonde haired, blue eyed golden child of Evie and Antony Walker, Daryl is destined for great things. He’s being primed to take over the Walker Empire worth billions and he’s promised me I will be his wife.

They can’t find out, right?

Bella flicks a non existent speck off her dress. "Bry,