Every Last Doubt (Adler & Sage): His to Claim, #1

By Christa Wick

The moment I meet the admittedly cute trespasser ready to attack me in my sister's home just weeks after a tragic accident took her from us, I know the woman's going to be trouble.

She's sexy as hell, distractingly curvy—and obviously keeping things from me and my family. Worse than that, she's definitely afraid of something, and it's driving me crazy she won't tell me what.

The thing is, I'm not just starting to feel protective of the walking flight risk, but damn possessive, too. And the more I'm with her, the more I want to be the man that gets her past the fears she's got bottled up.

In both her head and her heart.

 

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Previously published as Adler James (c) 2017, completely rewritten in first person POV and revised throughout with a little more steam (note that this is my first slow-burn story series, steam-wise LOL, so it is a little tamer than my usual stuff -- but not too tame, as it is a Christa Wick book, after all *grin*), along with newly added content, and a different extended ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christa Wick
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223521105

Book preview

1

ADLER

My temper one faint spark away from igniting, I pulled into the driveway of the house I was renting to my brother-in-law. Despite the hour, interior lights filtered through the living room curtains. Quickly killing the engine, I jumped from the cab of my truck and marched onto the front porch, the cold pre-dawn air doing nothing to cool my anger.

I rang the doorbell, landed three sharp knocks then waited through a count of ten that perfectly matched the heartbeats pounding inside my chest. When no one called out, I slid a key in the deadbolt and entered.

The faint clinking of dishes and a sweet but sultry voice pulled my attention toward my sister's kitchen. A strange woman stood at the sink overflowing with bubbles. She had a scrubbing pad in one hand and a pot in the other. To her left, freshly washed dishes were piled in the strainer.

Words announcing my intrusion crowded along the tip of my tongue. Yet I remained silent, my gaze roaming the abundance of womanly curves as anger wrestled with my cock's all-too-obvious approval of the sight before me.

A simple black ribbon gathered long blonde hair at the nape of the woman’s neck. With her hair pulled back from her face, I could see the wireless earbuds she wore. The lyrics filling her head and rolling so easily off her tongue explained why she hadn’t answered the door when I knocked earlier and why she remained oblivious to my presence.

Gaze dropping lower, my attention lingered over the long legs rounded at the calves and again where the pillowy thighs disappeared into dark blue soccer shorts. Her pale arms were bare, a sleeveless t-shirt of the same blue as the shorts stretched tightly around her chest. Despite the ponytail obscuring the view, I could see enough of the lines and colors on the back of the shirt to identify the cartoonish mascot of the MSU-Billings Yellowjackets.

I recognized the top and shorts. No matter how many copies had been sold around the state of Montana, the finger-length paint stain running from the shirt’s hem on the right hip down onto the side panel of the shorts made the outfit uniquely identifiable as belonging to my sister.

My dead sister.

The woman was wearing Dawn’s clothes, washing Dawn’s dishes in Dawn’s kitchen. Absent were Dawn’s husband Jake and their baby girl. At five a.m. on a Saturday morning, their absence didn’t make sense.

Looking like she did, the woman made a hell of a lot of sense to me now. Especially when her body moved ever so softly as she sang, leaning into the deep notes, lifting at the high ones, graceful fingers moving with purpose through the slippery dishwater. What I could see of her profile suggested a face every bit as seductive as the rest of her body.

Still, less than five weeks had passed since I helped bury my sister, the weight of her casket indelibly printed on my shoulder as I served as pallbearer. My brothers and I had lost a sister and a father, my mother had lost her husband and her only daughter, on the same day, on the same stretch of road.

Two funerals, two soul-crushing losses. And now, six weeks after the accident, my brother-in-law was taking up with another woman.

Jake, according to his neighbor Betty Rae, had smuggled this woman in under cover of darkness. I could only guess what had happened between the woman arriving dressed in her own clothing—presumably with shoes on the now bare feet—and her standing in front of the sink a few hours later wearing Dawn’s shorts and tank top.

My anger burned hotter, the fire spreading to my lungs. I drew a deep breath. It wasn’t the woman I was furious with. She probably didn’t know much about the circumstances. But, knowing or not, her presence would slice and stab at my family's still raw wounds.

Crossing the living room, I stopped at the threshold to the kitchen. Reaching forward, I flicked the light switch off, then immediately on again. I wanted to draw the woman's attention without scaring her too much. I didn’t mind scaring her a little. Maybe next time she would make sure to know more about a man before she slept with him.

One hand gripping a plate and the other a sponge, the blonde tilted her head up toward the ceiling light. With the side of her face visible to me, I could see her brows were knitting together, her nose twitching with a second’s indecision. Then her shoulders followed with a shrug as she returned to cleaning the plate.

I let her finish the plate, dip it in the rinse water then place it in the rack. When she held nothing more than the sponge, I rapidly flicked the switch until she pivoted and saw me standing there, my mouth corkscrewing with annoyed amusement.

Her face was every bit as beautiful as I expected. Porcelain skin, full cheeks, and a plump, pouty sort of mouth that I immediately wanted wrapped around my cock.

For a heartbeat or two, her expression widened with wonder, then it narrowed just as fast. She pedaled a few steps further from me, her hand and gaze shooting toward the dish rack. Busy eyeing the woman’s curves while fuming at her presence, I hadn’t noticed the long knives drying on a separate towel. She seized the one with the biggest blade, her wet grip sliding around the plastic handle.

Some of the fire burning up my insides died down.

Remaining outside the kitchen with my gaze locked on hers, I lifted my hands to show I was unarmed. Then I gestured at my ear. Missing my point, the woman swiped a palm across Dawn’s shirt, switched hands on the knife, then repeated the swipe and switched back.

I didn't feel like smiling, but I forced one to my face as I mimicked pinching and removing an earbud. She slapped at one ear, knocking the bud out, then brandished the knife in my direction.

Whoever you are, you WILL walk straight to the front door, open it, and leave. Shutting it behind you.

Gaze traveling over her from top to bottom, I shook my head. Her grip on the knife remained unstable, the nylon fabric of the shirt having done little to dry her hands. The rounded stomach stayed clenched, the proud shoulders, too. The locked muscles of her torso created a tremble in her lower body that played along the end of the butcher’s blade.

Who I am is Adler Turk. I lifted the big metal ring loaded with keys that I carry and gave it a jiggle. And this is my house.

Look, you have no⁠—

I laughed at the growl in her voice. As sweet as she could sing, growling wasn’t her forte, wasn’t who she was. I had met plenty of women who had honed their voice and delivery to a biting edge. In my opinion, Blondie hadn’t even practiced.

As my amusement built in volume, her mouth went wide and flat. She was just as mad as the yellowjacket stitched on the borrowed shirt she wore, though the shiny metal blade in her hand would possess a far more formidable sting, provided she could keep her grip from sliding around and shaking.

She rolled her lips once then started over. I don’t care if you’re stoned or delusional. Leave now because I’m calling the cops and they will arrest you if you’re still here.

After a glance at the wall clock, I shrugged, hooked the key ring to my belt loop and pulled out my cell phone, my every movement slow and deliberate so she didn’t have a reason to rush me. I really didn’t want to call the cops. I wanted the woman out of my dead sister’s house without turning her visit into something the small town of Willow Gap, Montana, would be discussing for years to come.

Baby, if you want the police all up in your dirty laundry, I’d be happy to oblige.

I pressed the number NINE on my keypad then glanced up at her. Seeing no change in her stubborn resolve, I pressed the number ONE then held my finger ready to press it again.

Liar, the woman softly challenged as my finger continued to hover.

God help me, I pressed the final number. At the first ring, a crisp female voice advised me over speakerphone that I had reached the Willow Gap emergency services hotline.

That you, Monkey Butt? I asked, knowing darn well the 911 operator taking the call was Siobhan Turk, the youngest daughter of my uncle Boone.

Who… Siobhan cleared her throat, the strangled sound telegraphing displeasure. Barrett?

Close, Monkey Butt. But I’m far better looking than my little brother.

Little was the wrong word to describe Barrett Turk. The man jumped out of planes with firefighting equipment strapped to his back. He was an axe-wielding Hulk, soot usually covering skin that was only allegedly green. Still, I was the oldest, so my four brothers were little brothers, even the two who towered over me.

Adler James Turk, if this is not an emergency call, I will personally… Siobhan trailed off for a second, the gears inside her head no doubt spinning a million revolutions per second. Are you at Dawn’s?

Yeah, I answered, the muscles of my throat tightening at my sister’s name.

Jake there?

Not a sign, I said, my gaze locked on the woman.

Her grip on the butcher knife had relaxed. I doubted she even remembered that it was in her hand. Too many emotions flickered across her face for her to be paying attention to the weapon. By this point in my conversation with Siobhan, the woman had likely realized calling the cops wasn’t going to help her.

Not that my family had a lock on the local police force. Sheriff Gamble was his own man, a career law enforcement officer who had moved to Willow Gap three years prior. But the Turks weren’t known for causing problems, me least of all. So there was a certain bias in my favor if the law did show up.

"Is that blonde thing Betty Rae spotted sneaking into the house ‘bout half past midnight still there?"

The woman straightened, the soft, mobile features of her lovely face hardening.

Yep, I answered, a small prick of guilt needling me at Siobhan calling the woman a thing. Maybe it was the stranger’s looks and sweet singing affecting my disposition in an irrational manner, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt that she had made a once-in-a-lifetime mistake coming home with Jake Ballard.

Sounds like you’re on speakerphone, Siobhan continued. So she can hear me?

Yep.

The stranger’s eyes widened, filling with too many emotions to count.

Ma’am, Siobhan called out, for the purposes of this emergency call, I need your full name and home address.

Picturing Siobhan snarling with indignation at another woman in her cousin’s kitchen poised at the ready to run the most invasive background check possible on the stranger, I rolled my lips to keep from smiling—until I saw the color drain entirely from the woman’s face.

Monkey Butt, I sighed into the phone. I’m hanging up now. Call you later.

I didn’t give Siobhan time to protest or ask if she should send a patrol car. I just ended the call and placed the phone in my pocket before turning my full attention back to the woman who looked absolutely stricken.

Let’s start over, I said, trying and failing to soften my tone.

Maybe if I was a better man, I could have. But the pain of losing Dawn was too fresh. She’d been the brightest light in our whole family, my baby sister no matter how grown she got. From the day Dawn had entered the world, I’d made it my job as her big brother to keep her safe.

Having failed that, all I could do now was protect her memory and daughter.

I shoved my hands in my pockets. Hard tone or soft, I had to get the words out—had to get the woman out.

My name is Adler Turk ma’am. You know that already. What you maybe don’t know is that you are standing in my sister’s kitchen, wearing her clothes. Dawn died six weeks ago, was buried four weeks and three days ago. She was twenty-eight. In a week and a day, her daughter will turn two with no mother to light the candles or bake the cake. You see now why you’re leaving?

The woman blinked, filling instantly with tears as her delicately curved chin lifted, its direction pointing over my shoulder toward the now open front door behind me.

I pivoted to find that Jake had returned home. In his arms, he held little Leah, her sweet face drowsy from sleep, her eyes slowly blinking awake.

Baby girl, I rasped, gazing sadly at my niece.

Jake eased the door shut with his foot then carried Leah over to the couch. She was wearing the pink cardigan that Dawn had bought for her this Easter, with pale brown bunnies and cream-colored chicks embroidered along the hem.

Nice of the man to at least keep his niece remembering Dawn. I wondered then if Blondie here had already met Leah.

As if I wasn’t angry enough.

Jake calmly unbuttoned the sweater, no signs of emotion running through his fingers.

That was part of the problem, I thought. The biggest part. Jake was too often a blank slate. I only trusted in two things about the man. First, he worked harder than anyone else. Second, he loved Dawn and Leah with all his heart.

Or so I’d thought, at least.

Betty Rae had shattered that trust with a single phone call relaying how she had seen Jake and a curvy blonde woman racing into the house in the middle of the night like the devil was on their heels.

Smoothing and folding Leah’s sweater, Jake stared at me a long, hard moment before looking at the woman in the kitchen. This is Sage. She’s my sister.

His simple words hit me hard in the chest. Fresh anger spread out from the point of impact. It would have been easier to believe the woman was an alien washing dishes to work off an interstellar call home.

You sat at my parents’ table on a Sunday and told them you’re an only child. With my hands curling into fists, I shoved them in my pockets. You said you had no family left alive.

Jake’s eyes drifted shut. For a few long seconds, his fingers gripped the tiny pink sweater in his lap—as if he was trying to hold onto something he didn’t want to lose.

Or in this case, something that was already gone.

When he finally looked up at me, his gaze was hooded, hiding any trace of emotion as he answered simply, I lied.

2

SAGE

With my grip on the butcher knife growing slack, I sagged against the kitchen counter. I stared at the floor, no longer able to look at the two men or the dainty toddler with the amber colored hair. All I could do was listen to my brother’s words looping through my thoughts, the internal volume slowly winding down, fading just like Jake had faded from my life almost half a decade earlier.

I lied…

You’ll lose a toe, Adler Turk growled, storming across the kitchen. His big hand closed around the knife’s handle right as it began to slide from my numb fingers.

Our gazes locked for less than a heartbeat. Eyes I had thought black from a distance proved to be a deep blue-gray as dark as midnight. Emotion flared in their depths, but the exchange ended as soon as it began. Scowling, he turned away, slid the knife in the block next to the stove and returned to the room’s threshold.

With his back to me, he stood there, his thick arms folded across his broad chest, his entire demeanor posed as if I didn’t exist.

Because I don’t exist, I thought with a rough swallow. Bitter tears I refused to let flow stung the tip of my nose as I realized how I’d gone from being my brother’s best friend to his dirty little secret.

He wasn’t the first person to do that to me—just the first one I loved.

Really, the only one left in this world I thought loved me, too.

Why should I believe a word you say? Adler asked with another tight growl as he glared at Jake.

Addy!

Leah’s sharp cry yanked my gaze in her direction. It was the first word the little girl had spoken since I got here. The toddler had kept her face buried against Jake’s chest at the Billings airport, her small form shaking as she clutched her father’s denim jacket. Soon the shaking worsened to the point she was throwing up when we reached Willow Gap. When the vomiting didn’t stop even when we got to the house, Jake had rushed Leah to an emergency clinic half an hour away.

That’s why Adler had discovered me alone in his sister’s kitchen.

"Addy, pwease!"

I looked at the niece I hadn’t known existed until a few weeks ago. The little girl’s heart was breaking, but it wasn’t her father she was pleading with. Her tiny arms were stretched toward Adler Turk.

The man cleared his throat, his hands falling to his sides. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see Jake’s. He offered a small nod at his brother-in-law then moved to sit on the side chair. Adler crossed the room, sat on the couch and folded Leah into his arms. She immediately fisted her hands in her uncle’s rust red hair before burying her face against his neck.

Want mommy.

Adler’s expression contorted. My heart twisted in sympathy. I knew Jake was hurting, but he had his mask firmly in place. It was an old mask, its chips filled in and painted over more times than I wanted to count. I knew its every contour because I had one just like it, kept it ready to be put on like a poncho tightly folded in a back pocket on a cloudy day.

And in that moment, everything the man was feeling surfaced and shimmered across the strong planes of his face. His Adam’s apple bobbed, the tendons of his neck pushing outward like thick, knotty vines as his full lips rolled inward to press a thin line. Unshed tears caught the light in his broken gaze, shimmering like distant stars against his midnight blue irises.

Basically forgotten by everyone there, I turned my back on the scene. The dishes were done. I slid my hand into water grown cold and pulled the plug. A small whirlpool formed in the sink and I just stood there, watching it spin, growing then shrinking until a great sucking sound took the last of the water away.

Perfect metaphor for my life.

Pushing the thought away, I dried my hands then stored the remaining knives before retreating from the kitchen toward the guest room. Adler and Leah were oblivious to my leaving. Jake, however, snagged my gaze for a second then looked back to where his daughter sought comfort in her uncle’s presence instead of his.

Once in the hall, I stepped into