Adler James Read online

  Adler James

  Real Cowboys Love Curves

  Christa Wick

  Contents

  About Adler James Turk

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  First Look: Walker Pierce

  More from Christa Wick

  About Adler James Turk

  Meet the Turk brothers one hard riding, curve loving cowboy at a time!

  Sage never wanted to be any man’s dirty little secret. Been there, done that, the shoe didn’t fit. Arriving unexpectedly in the small Montana town of Willow Gap after dark, she discovers that a “dirty secret” is all she is.

  Finding a sensuously lush woman in his dead sister’s kitchen after midnight, Adler Turk’s only thought is how to get rid of her before his family’s raw wounds are spread open for the whole town to see.

  Well, it’s not his only thought as he stares at the curvy beauty, but it’s the only one that matters—until he discovers that Sage is not what she seems. Now it’s up to Adler to prove to the woman that a bad beginning can make for many happy endings.

  Reading order for books in the Real Cowboys Love Curves series

  Adler James—Book One

  Walker Pierce—Book Two

  Barrett Cole—Book Three

  Wait! There are more brothers!

  Help spread the good word on Adler, Walker and Barrett’s books so I can give Sutton, Emerson and the rest of the Turk family and friends their happily-ever-after! Also, did you know that leaving a review helps open advertising opportunities for an author because some of the major book recommendation sites require a minimum number of written reviews with a minimum rating average before they will accept an ad for the book?

  Copyright © 2017 by Christa Wick (originally released as Adler, Book 1 of Montana Whispers © 2017 writing as Ione Keeling) Excerpt from Walker Pierce copyright © 2017 by Christa Wick (originally released 2017 writing as Ione Keeling) All rights reserved.

  Any person, place, entity or brand is fictitious or fictitiously used.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Adler James Turk stood at the threshold of his dead sister’s kitchen studying an unfamiliar woman scouring pots and dishes in a sink overflowing with bubbles. Gaze roaming the abundance of womanly curves, anger wrestled with masculine interest to the point he could not look away or interrupt the unexpected domestic scene.

  A simple black ribbon gathered long blonde hair at the nape of the woman’s neck. With the hair pulled back from the face, he 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 Adler knocked earlier and why she remained oblivious to his presence.

  Gaze dropping lower, his 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, Adler could see enough of the lines and colors on the back of the shirt to identify the cartoonish mascot of the MSU-Billings Yellowjackets.

  He recognized the top and shorts. No matter how many so called “plus” sized 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 his dead sister.

  The woman was wearing Dawn’s clothes, washing Dawn’s dishes in Dawn’s kitchen. Absent were Dawn’s husband and 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 Adler. Especially when her body moved ever so softly as she sang, leaning into the deep notes, lifting at the high ones. Graceful fingers moved with purpose through the slippery dishwater. And, what he could see of her profile suggested a face every bit as enticing as the rest of her body.

  Still, six weeks in the grave was six weeks in the grave. Jake Ballard, according to an overly observant neighbor, had smuggled his visitor in under cover of darkness. Adler 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.

  A furious heat skimmed the surface of Adler’s chest and cheeks. He drew a deep breath. It wasn’t the woman he was angry with. She probably didn’t know much about the circumstances. But, knowing or not, her presence would slice and stab at the still raw wounds of his family.

  The Turks had lost a daughter and a father on the same day, on the same stretch of road. Two funerals, two soul-crushing losses. And now, six weeks later, Jake Ballard had taken up with another woman.

  Reaching into the kitchen, Adler flicked the light switch off, then immediately on again, drawing the stranger’s attention even as he kept his distance to avoid scaring her too much. He 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. He only saw the side of her face, but he could tell the brows were knitting together as the one visible drew down. Her nose twitched with a second’s indecision. The shoulders followed with a shrug as she returned to cleaning the plate.

  Adler let her finish the plate, dip it in the clean water then place it in the rack. When she held nothing more than the sponge, he rapidly flicked the switch until she pivoted and saw him standing there, his mouth a twist of annoyed amusement.

  The woman’s face was every bit as beautiful as he expected. Porcelain skin, full cheeks, and a plump, pouty sort of mouth that would fuel more than one night of fantasies.

  For a heartbeat or two, her expression widened with wonder, then it narrowed just as fast. She pedaled a few steps further from him, her hand and gaze shooting toward the dish rack. Busy eyeing the woman’s curves while fuming at her presence, Adler 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.

  Adler remained just outside the kitchen. Slowly, his gaze locked on hers, he lifted his hands to show he was unarmed. Then he gestured at his ear. Appearing to miss his point, the woman swiped a palm across Dawn’s shirt, switched hands on the knife, then repeated the swipe and switched back.

  Forcing a smile, Adler mimicked pinching and removing an earbud. She slapped at one ear, knocking the bud out. Without giving Adler time to explain himself, she brandished the knife in his direction.

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

  He shook his head, his gaze traveling over her from top to bottom. Her grip on the knife remained unstable, the nylon fabric of the shirt having done little to dry her hands. The rounded stomach sta
yed clench, 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.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he plucked out a big metal ring loaded with keys. “And regardless of what you’ve been told, this is my house.”

  “Look—”

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

  As his 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. Unfortunately, the shiny metal blade in her hand possessed 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 am calling the cops and they will arrest you if you’re still here.”

  After a glance at the wall clock, Adler shrugged, returned the key ring to his pocket and pulled his cell phone out, his actions slow and deliberate to avoid her rushing at him with the knife.

  “If you want the police all up in your dirty laundry, I’d be happy to oblige.”

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

  He really didn’t want to call the cops. He wanted the woman out of his dead sister’s house without turning her visit into something the small town of Willow Gap, Montana, would be discussing for years to come.

  “Liar,” the woman softly challenged as his finger continued to hover.

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

  “That you, Monkey Butt?” he asked, knowing darn well the 911 operator taking the call was Siobhan Turk, the youngest daughter of his 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, Adler was the oldest, so his four brothers were little brothers, even the two who towered over him.

  “Adler James Turk, if this is not an emergency call, I will personally…”

  Siobhan trailed off for a second, the gears inside her lovely head no doubt spinning a million revolutions per second.

  “Are you at Dawn’s?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, throat tightening at his sister’s name.

  “Jake there?”

  “Not a sign,” he said, his gaze locked on the woman.

  Her grip on the butcher knife had relaxed. He 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 Adler’s 911 conversation, she had likely realized calling the cops wasn’t going to help her.

  Not that the Turk 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, especially Adler. So there was a certain bias in his 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,” Adler answered, a small prick of guilt needling him at his cousin calling the woman a “thing.” Maybe it was the stranger’s looks and sweet singing irrationally affecting his disposition, but he 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 pale cheeks darkened to a brownish rose.

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

  Picturing Siobhan puffed up with indignation at another woman in her cousin’s kitchen, Adler rolled his lips to keep from smiling—until the color fled entirely from the stranger’s face.

  “Monkey Butt,” he sighed. “I’m hanging up.”

  He didn’t give Siobhan time to protest or ask if she should send a patrol car. He just ended the call and placed the phone in his pocket before turning his full attention on the woman.

  “Let’s start over,” he said, trying and failing to soften his tone. Maybe if he had been a better man, he could have. But the pain of losing Dawn was too fresh. She was his baby sister, the brightest light in his family. From the day Dawn entered the world, his job was to keep her safe. Now all he could do was protect her memory and daughter.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, poked the toe of one boot at a speck of dirt on the floor. Hard tone or soft, he 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. The long, blond lashes released a small flick of tears against the high cheekbones. Her delicately curved chin lifted, its direction pointing over Adler’s shoulder toward the front door.

  He pivoted to find that Jake Ballard had returned home. In his arms, he held little Leah, her sweet face twisted with hurt.

  “Baby girl,” Adler rasped, then stalled.

  Jake eased the door shut with his foot then carried Leah over to the couch. She wore a pink cardigan with pale brown bunnies and cream-colored chicks embroidered along the hem. Jake calmly unbuttoned the sweater, no signs of emotion running through his fingers.

  That was part of the problem, Adler thought. Jake was too often a blank slate. Adler had 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.

  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 Adler a long, hard moment before looking at the woman in the kitchen.

  “This is Sage. She’s my sister.”

  Adler shook his head. He would have an easier time believing the woman was an alien who had landed in a nearby field and was washing dishes to work off an interstellar call home.

  A second, harder shake followed the first.

  “You sat at my parents’ table on a Sunday and told them you are an only child.” Inside his pockets, Adler’s hands twisted with the need to point and shake a furious fist at his brother-in-law. “You said you had no family left alive.”

  Jake’s eyes drifted shut. For a few, fluttering seconds, his fingers danced lightly across the sweater in his lap. When they stilled, he looked at Adler and shrugged.

  “I lied.”

  2

  Sage Ballard sagged against the kitchen counter, her grip on the butcher’s knife growing slack. She stared at the floor, no longer able to look at the two men or the dainty toddler with the amber colored hair. All she could do was listen to her brother’s words looping through her thoughts, the internal volume slowly winding down, fading just like Jake had faded from her l
ife 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 her numb fingers.

  Their gazes locked for less than a heartbeat. Eyes she’d 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. He stood there, thick arms folded across his broad chest, his back to Sage like she didn’t exist.

  Because I don’t exist, she thought with a rough swallow. Bitter tears she refused to yield stung the lining of her nose. Somehow she’d gone from being her brother’s best friend to his dirty little secret.

  He wasn’t the first man to do that to her—just the first one she loved.

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

  “Addy!”

  Sage jerked her head at Leah’s sharp cry. It was the first time she had heard the little girl speak. 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. The shaking worsened to the point she was throwing up when they reached Willow Gap. When the vomiting continued inside the house, Jake rushed Leah to an emergency clinic half an hour away.

  That’s why Adler found Sage alone in his sister’s kitchen.