Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 1

T he garland wrapping around the post turns the wooden beam into a cheery, tinseled green. Winter has settled over Bear Ridge, leaving a snow-covered scar that won't heal for a few more months. I banish the burly icy beast with gold and silver, leaving him to howl outside while inside, fairy and tea lights defy his tantrum. Not bad, if I do say so myself. The Old Barn has never looked better. She dresses up mighty fine, as Mee-Maw would say.

A pang tightens in my chest. God, I miss her. What would she think of the work I've put into The Old Barn? We had a testosterone-filled Barkley family fight over what to do with the huge barn. It had become a withered crone who doesn't mind showing the tatters in her dress or the wrinkles on her age-spotted face. But I've always been one to see beauty beneath the surface. It's usually there if you look hard enough—something Mee-Maw taught me. A lesson her son, my father, never learned.

I glance out the window at the snow-covered fields, memories swirling like the flakes outside. How many times has he failed to see my strengths, my accomplishments, my wisdom? Instead, my father keeps a list longer than Santa's of my faults. The thought sends a familiar ache through me, settling like a stone in my stomach.

He was my biggest detractor and puts up the fiercest arguments against my ideas. The Old Barn could be torn down to expand the farm, warehouse crops, or store supplies—all things that are being done by the new barn. My idea of turning it into a place for wedding banquets riled him the most. "Why the hell should people spend that kind of money on something that never lasts and is built on lies?" he'd hurled the words at me, his eyes hard, relishing as usual when I flinched. They lie when they tell you that words don't hurt. Each syllable had struck like a blow, leaving invisible bruises that never quite fade.

But I refused to back down. I continued my campaign, appealing to everyone else with spreadsheets and projections—costs versus expenses. After I wore them down, they patted me on the shoulder, congratulated my victory, and then dumped the entire project in my lap. Fine by me—I took it and ran. Not just ran; I scored and did a backflip victory dance in my mind. The Old Barn is spectacular. It is a popular wedding destination that has spawned our Barkley Farms weekend getaways and tours, consistently ranking five stars for banquet halls with southern charm and rustic elegance.

I adjust a strand of lights. Mee-Maw would be proud. I can almost hear her soft voice praising my efforts, her eyes crinkling at the corners with that secret smile she saved just for me.

Tonight, Bear Ridge High School is hosting its Winter Fest—an annual event that brings together townsfolk, alumni, parents, and students. Everyone in Bear Ridge joins to celebrate Christmas like one big ole happy family. Because that's what we are. Most of the time...

I pull double duty because I am both the assistant principal at Bear Ridge and The Old Barn's manager. Assistant manager, I correct myself with a wry smile. I hired Trudy as the full-time manager when business took off, but it's taking people a while to accept that. Small towns run like trains on the same hundred-year-old tracks. Switching tracks is akin to running the train into a watery grave.

"I think that's the last of it," Trudy says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as if my thoughts conjured her. Her warmth seeps through my sweater, and I resist the urge to pull away. "It looks amazing. When we open those doors, I expect to be knocked down by their collective 'wow.'"

"You think so? Do we need a little more—"

"Nothing. Noel, it's perfect. You did a fantastic job. I just wish you'd accepted more of my help. Remember, I'm here to assist. Hell, I'm here to do it. But if you're not ready to turn the reins over yet, at least let me help. I want to make your burden lighter. Otherwise, why am I here?"

"You are making it lighter. You're here because I need you." I pick up my clipboard, slipping neatly out of her embrace—never comfortable with affection. How could you be comfortable with something you rarely receive? The thought brings a bitter taste to my mouth, but I push it aside. "Now, about the Sweets for the Sweet auction—is Mayor Stanton still set to emcee?"

"You couldn't pay him to miss it. Free publicity and a chance for him and his wife to live in busybody heaven—he called and begged us to do it."

A quick laugh escapes me, and she joins in. "Okay, good. I guess we're all set. And no matter what happens, we'll be prepared.

"Always," I agree, but a flicker of unease passes through me. Tonight feels like the calm before a storm, and I don't know why.

As if on cue, Danielle bursts into the room, doing a honeybee dance and spinning around. Her light brown skin glows under the fairy lights, and her eyes glint with enough excitement that a blind man could see. "Oh my God, did you hear?" she says, practically vibrating with energy.

"Hey, Danielle," I say with a smile. Danielle and I have been best friends since kindergarten, her wild joy always balancing my more reserved nature. I continue sorting ticket stubs, tearing off the raffle entries for those who've forgotten to put their numbers in the glass bowl. "Hear what?"

"Okay, you know how Arrow Trucking bought out old man Mason's property?" I shrug, still counting, figuring she'll make her way to the point, eventually.

"Well, that eyesore was just abandoned asphalt because he could never get anyone to invest in his strip mall idea. Noel, Arrow Trucking bought the property after signing a distribution deal with Barkley Farms." That makes me pause, a frown creasing my forehead.

"I don't remember this. I wonder when they made the deal?"

"You probably had your head buried in a book, and it was also the start of school. You know how crazy it is for the first few months," she says, waving a dismissive hand.

"True," I admit, straightening up the reception table. A few stragglers still haven't claimed their reserved tables.

"Noel, this is huge. Can you imagine the business coming into town? The truckers..." She shakes me, grabbing my attention and locking it. "The men—do you hear me, girl? Is anybody home? Hello, new men. Fresh meat. When was the last time we had a fresh infusion?" When I shrug again, she answers herself, "Never." She rubs her hands together, eyes gleaming. "We might actually get a chance to work out with something other than our hands and our battery-operated boyfriends."

"Shush," I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one hears her shenanigans. A flush heats my cheeks. "We have students here. Did you forget? And parents..." I lower my voice. " My parent ." The last thing I need is another lecture from my father. One more item for his "What's wrong with Noel" list.

"Fine," she whispers, leaning in. "But I talked to Bryan, and I finally got it out of him that the owner is coming today. He wants to show up and meet the community. And I think he's single."

"Why do you think that?" I frown at her assumption.

"Because one, Santa would not do this to us—it's Christmas. And we've been on the good girl list for years." I roll my eyes, but she continues, undeterred. "And two," she adds, ignoring my skepticism, "when I asked Bry, he got all huffy. The way he always does when I ask if someone is single."

"Because he's in love with you. You know that," I say, defending my cousin.

"Please. He had his chance, and he blew it when he slept with that skank."

"You were both sixteen. And that 'skank' is the mother of two of your favorite students."

"Yeah, well, they're brilliant. Obviously got it from their dad."

I suppress a sigh. Poor Bryan. There's no wound that cuts deeper than a first love. They really need to rename it from puppy love to hyena love because puppies are not that vicious. I change the subject before Danielle can start in on him again. "Anyway, so he'll be here. Let me know how it works out. My money's on you."

"On us, 'cause girl, we got this." She loops her arm through mine, ignoring the way I tense before relaxing. "Bring on the owner—he won't know what hit him."

"Dani, don't be so hard on yourself. We've got to build up your confidence," I tease, a smile tugging at my lips.

"My confidence is fine," she grins. "I know I'm a freaking great catch."

I shake my head, and grin. Danielle always knows how to lift my spirits.

***

The clamor of people, music, and laughter ring through The Old Barn, but it all fades to static at the words, "Miss me, sunshine?"

The voice is deeper—rougher—but the words, the cadence, the rhythm are all too familiar. My heart stops, then pounds against my ribcage like a wild thing. The fine hairs on my arm stiffen and raise, heat creeps up my neck. Sweat pools between my breasts, and the coldest night of the year becomes an inferno. I grip the glass bowl where I've been shuffling tickets, my fingers turning white. I don't move. I can't. I know exactly who stands behind me. My legs threaten to give way, but I lock my knees, forcing myself to remain upright.

I will my feet not to turn. Will my eyes not to well with tears. Force myself to breathe—to pump air in and out like I've done every day for the last ten years. It works. My lungs expand and contract, but each respiration reverberates his name.

Trace Arroyo.

Memories crash through the damn, I'd built stone by stone and flood me. He'd been a worker at Barkley Farms when I'd come home for summer break as a college sophomore. His skin bronzed from the fields, muscles straining under his shirt, had caught my eye. His smiling eyes and thick dark hair had captured my fantasies. But it was his patience, kindness, and attention when I'd desperately needed all three that supercharged love's slow slide into a swift tumble.

In no time, I'd given him every part of me. Heart, soul... body. Gave him my all without waiting to see if he'd earned it. Then he'd packed up and left with his uncles in the middle of the night. Not even a goodbye. Never so much as a postcard. If his family hadn't disappeared at the same time, I'd have assumed the worst. But word gets around as it always does in a small town. The Arroyo family was working in another state. He'd taken what he wanted from me and moved on. Probably to do the same thing to another young woman.

Jealous bile rises in my gut and sticks in my throat. I wondered what I would do if I ever saw him again. Wondered which would be stronger: the urge to rip him to shreds for the way he’d ruined my young heart or the urge to jump into his arms and claw beneath the skin so he could never leave me again. Now all I had to do was turn around and find out. But I can't. My hands tremble as I set the bowl down, careful not to let it slip from my grasp. I lift my chin, hold my head so high the bones stretch, and walk away.

Walk. Slowly, deliberately, each step measured. I add a little extra sway to my fuller, rounder hips. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's rattled me. I don't look back. Instead, I stride into the main hall, determined to finish what I've set out to do—run this event without letting Trace Arroyo, or anyone else, derail me.

The party is in full swing when I enter the crowded room. The scent of evergreen from the fresh boughs decorating the arched windows and cinnamon from the wreaths fills the air. Winter Fest is the heart of Bear Ridge's holiday celebrations, and the pulsing excitement matches the storm coursing through my veins. I make my way to the stage, my heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. Lowe catches my eye from across the room, giving me a slight nod. Good, we're set—he'll bid for me, just like we planned. I focus on the task at hand, settling my attention on the table and double-checking the auction items as the bidding starts.

When it's my turn, I step up to the microphone, faking my cheer despite the turmoil swirling inside me. "Next up, we have a batch of my famous blonde brownies. Now, I'm not known for my cooking," I say, eliciting laughter from the crowd. "But remember, every sweet is accompanied by a sweet. So, for all you students who want a little more time with Ms. Barkley, here's your chance."

The audience chuckles, the mood light and jovial. The bidding starts at fifty dollars, and within seconds, Lowe raises his hand. "Two hundred," he calls out with a grin.

"Two hundred dollars for Miss Barkley's award-winning brownies. Do I hear two-fifty?" Mayor Stanton's voice carries over the murmurs.

I nod at Lowe, giving him a subtle thank you. But before I can step away, a voice cuts through the crowd, smooth and confident. "Five thousand dollars."

The barn falls silent. Everything freezes, even the fairy lights stop twinkling. I don't need to look to know who spoke—his voice has haunted my dreams for years. Heat floods my cheeks as I finally turn to face him.

Trace stands near the back of the barn, looking panty-dropping handsome in dark jeans and a tailored suit jacket that clings to his broad shoulders. His eyes—those deep brown eyes that once made me believe in forever—lock onto mine with an intensity that almost shoves me back in time. I warn myself that he's not the same boy that left Bear Ridge. The years have only sharpened his features, a rugged stubble lining his jaw. Despite my warning, my belly quivers. My body knows this man, and it's eager to fall in line and obey. Ten years later, and not a damn thing has changed.

"Five... five thousand dollars," Mayor Stanton says, clearly thrown off his rhythm. "That's... that's quite a bid for brownies, Mr...."

"Arroyo," Trace supplies, his gaze never leaving mine. "CEO of Arrow Trucking."

A ripple runs through the crowd, whispers spreading like wildfire. My mind races, thoughts tumbling over one another. I want to yell, to demand to know why he's doing this, but all I can do is stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. Trace Arroyo. The man who left me without a word. And now, he's back, bidding five thousand dollars for my dessert— for my time .

Why?

His bid hangs in the air, a grenade lobbed in slow motion. We all wait for it to land, or maybe that's just me. I don't know whether to laugh or scream. What is he playing at? The crowd stirs, eyes darting between me and Trace. But none of it matters. All that matters is him, standing there, claiming something that's not his to claim. Anger flares, hot and fierce. Defiant. Maybe this romance movie scene would have been worked if it hadn't come too little too late. This does not make me swoon or run down the aisle toward the hero. It makes me want to burn this place to ashes. How dare he? Whatever he wants, whatever game he's playing, could have been done in private.

Mayor Stanton recovers before I do, clearing his throat. "Five thousand dollars! Do I hear any other bids?" The room remains silent. "Going once, going twice... sold to Mr. Arroyo." The gavel comes down with a resounding thud, and the room erupts into applause. But I can't focus on any of that. My pulse roars in my ears. All I see is Trace, his dark eyes holding a challenge, a question, perhaps even an apology. I don't know because despite what my body says, I don't know him anymore. Maybe I never did.

I leave the stage. My heels click against the steps, each sound echoing louder than the last. When I reach the floor, Trace steps forward, cutting through the crowd that parts around him like he's Moses and they're the Red Sea. "Mr. Arroyo," I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm raging inside me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Winning your brownies," he replies, his voice low, rich with insinuation.

My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "Are you crazy? You didn't pay five thousand dollars for a dessert."

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You always were too smart for me."

"You're right. I am." My eyes narrow. "So, what are you after?"

"Maybe I'm after a chance to talk. To explain."

"Explain?" A bitter laugh escapes me. "There's nothing to explain. You used me and when you were done you did me the great favor of leaving and never coming back. Except you couldn't even get that part right."

A muscle tics in his jaw but he only says, "Just one conversation, Noel. That's all I ask."

"No." I say, meeting his gaze head-on. "Whatever game you're playing, keep me out of it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do." I walk away with as much dignity as I can muster, managing not to trip over the tangled pieces of my heart.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. Danielle corners me at one point, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What was that about? Was that Trace? Your Trace?"

"Not my anything," I say tersely, avoiding her probing gaze. "He never was," I mutter to myself.

"Oooo Kay," she says. But then she drops it. She know when to pull back. But I already know this is not the last I'll here of this.

Across the room, my father's stone face is grim with judgment and ire, the lines carved in his face are deeper than I've ever seen them. He watches me with an expression I can't read. Disappointment? Disapproval? I can't tell anymore.

Trace lingers at the edge of the crowd, his eyes following me—watching me. My family, friends—all watching me. Until every eye crawls over my skin like a million hungry ants. They're all waiting for something. But what? For me to break? To crumble under the weight of the past?

I can't. I won't. If I didn't before when I was a young girl who thought the sun rose and set because of Trace Arroyo, I damn sure won't now.