Running from the Renegade Read online

  Running from the Renegade

  Book 1

  The Renegades of Clearwater County

  Bonnie R. Paulson

  Running from the Renegade

  One town. Two feuding families. A second chance for a man and a woman on opposite sides of the war.

  Titus Bailey is the head of the Bailey clan in Clearwater County. The family is huge and cursed. Not your normal curse. The men of the Bailey Clan are destined to be alone. Anytime they fall in love, they lose their hearts and the women they fall for.

  The men of Bailey have made a pact that they will stay away from love to protect their hearts and each other. There are only so many brothers and cousins who can survive a broken heart.

  But Titus runs into Abby Smythe and their secret romance from years ago resurfaces only to be slapped away by Titus’s participation in the pact and Abby’s renewed hatred for the Bailey family. She can’t tolerate the family, what they stand for, or what they’re doing to the town that should have been named after her ancestors.

  When Titus and Abby are thrown together to fight the drilling company lurking along the edges of town, they have to figure out if the family feud is bigger than the love they have for each other.

  Could their romance be the slow cure of the curse?

  Chapter 1

  Abby

  So many people described the love of Abby’s life as musty and old. Well, her library was neither musty nor old, thank you very much.

  Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows set high in the cement walls. She’d admit to a few dust particles in the shafts of light, but that didn’t mean anything was musty or old. It just meant…Abby furrowed her brow. She didn’t know what it meant, but it certainly didn’t mean anything negative about her favorite place.

  She leaned back in the chair at the main desk—okay, the only desk—in the library on Fifth and Main in Bailey, Montana. Thankfully, the only library in town. She didn’t need any competition getting funds from the town for essentials like new computers for the patrons or the latest novels to stack the shelves.

  The chair creaked, reminding Abby she wasn’t on brand-new furniture. That was okay. She didn’t need anything new. All she wanted was for her job to stay where it was and to get through each day with little to no drama. She could do that.

  She wanted quiet and peace.

  Striking four p.m., the clock above the entrance doled out a somber tone. Abby sighed. Normally, she would go through the stacks and make sure no one was still inside, but that would require someone to actually have come in that day. And no one had.

  In fact, there hadn’t been any patrons for a few days.

  Running her hands over the scarred and well-used wood of the desk, Abby sighed. After another moment of just being in the chair, enjoying her position in the old building, she stood, tucking the chair in. Leaning across the desk, she reset the glass jar of pens and pencils a quarter inch to the right so it lined up with the brass lamp and the nameplate.

  Abby narrowed her eyes and scanned the lower level of the library with its gusseted ceilings and long walls filled with shelves of nonfiction. Stairs at the opposite end from where she stood led up to the fiction section where most people headed when they came in. Not Abby. Nonfiction was the place to be.

  Nothing had changed from the day before or the day before that. She had nothing to do to close up, besides grab her things and lock the door. Oh, and the lights. She couldn’t forget the lights. She made her way to the coat area, retrieving her jacket from the hook she chose every morning with its slightly crooked brass curve. She checked her pocket, not sure where she thought her wallet would have gone when no one had even been in. Habits were hard to break.

  Purses weren’t a thing for Abby and she’d prefer not carting one around, much to her mother’s dismay. Well, that shouldn’t be a big deal, but her mom fixated on things being proper and done a certain way. Abby wasn’t inclined to agree.

  Taking one more deep breath in the calm sanctuary of her building, Abby pushed out the front door, turning the lock before closing the door. She tugged on the door handle, nodding tightly at her inability to reopen the door from the outside.

  She zipped up her jacket and headed toward the diner two blocks down from the library on the same street running east to west.

  May had hit Bailey, Montana with fervent green grasses in the park across the street from the library. Trees covered in new buds surrounded the town square which ran at least six blocks either way. A small pond on the north side fed a stream that cut through the grasses and flowers, disappearing under a naturally-made reservoir just before the end of the square.

  The park was the only place in town Smythes and Baileys went without rancor. It was the only place left not claimed one way or the other.

  Everywhere Abby could see—businesses, streets, even the park benches—had been claimed by a Smythe or a Bailey. The Fifth Avenue street sign had even been graffitied with Smythe in black permanent marker under the white AVE.

  As embarrassing as it was, Abby didn’t blame whichever one of her relatives had done that. The Smythes were just trying to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. She waved at Mrs. Davies, one of her cousins twice removed or something like that. She didn’t really understand all the idiosyncrasies of genealogy, but she did know they were related. Mrs. Davies nodded from her position on the bench in front of the flower shop, one of the last businesses to be owned by a Smythe in Bailey.

  Her heels clicked on the cracked cement of the sidewalk. Abby enjoyed the warmth of the soon-to-be setting sun on her face as she headed toward The Smytheville Diner. The last restaurant in town to be owned by a Smythe.

  The diner came into view and Abby stopped, staring. The Bailey Diner. The neon portion of the sign that read Smytheville had been replaced with Bailey. When? When had that happened and why? Cynthia and George Smythe would never have done that unless their daughters had been threatened. Abby stared at the diner. No, probably not even then.

  Running her hand down her face, Abby couldn’t control the tightening in her chest. Anger she’d harbored for years slowly simmered into a more heated mess. There had to be something she could do. Maybe she was hallucinating. She wouldn’t be surprised if she were going insane. Being surrounded by the Baileys day in and day out and not being able to seek revenge for any of their sins or any of their slights took its toll.

  Abby had been broken by a Bailey. She’d never recover and it was why she was slowly turning into the town spinster. She refused to get a cat, but she had the books at the library. Wasn’t that enough?

  Determined to find out what had happened, Abby crossed the street, noticing fewer cars in the parking lot tucked behind the old brick building. She’d have to call the restaurant the diner for a little while, until she knew what was going on.

  Windows filled the middle third of the wall running the length of the building. They let in the light and let the occupants see town as they enjoyed their classic diner fare. Abby glanced up at the changed sign. Why? How was it possible? The diner had been built years after the library, giving in a newer structure design. Most of the buildings on the south side of town had a similar feel to them. The Smythes had developed most of that part of the town and had pushed and pushed for the town to be called Smytheville.

  Not the most original name, but that wasn’t the point.

  Abby pulled open the right double door. She inhaled the diner air, grateful the smell of waffles, French fries, and coffee hadn’t changed—even if the sign had. Inside didn’t feel any different as she walked past the benches lining the foyer for people to wait for a seat during a busy rush. The tiles clicked as she walked, similar to outside but mo
re contained as she slowed.

  Only three people sat the counter, their shoulders hunched over as they cradled their mugs of coffee. Old James Peters peeked Abby’s way, suspicion narrowing his eyes until he recognized her. He nodded, relief clearing his features.

  Abby hadn’t seen an expression like that in the “safe zones” in quite a while. The diner was supposed to be a safe spot. What was going on?

  “I don’t care, Anthony. We should have sold to Margaret when we had the chance. Well, you wouldn’t listen and now…” Cynthia wiped at her cheeks as she came out to the front from the back office. George, her husband of thirty-one years, followed behind her.

  Defeat. There was no other way to describe their expressions.

  Abby stepped to the counter, cocking her head to the side. “Cynthia, George, what’s going on? I saw the sign.”

  Cynthia stopped at the sight of Abby. She raised her hands in the air while staring at the ceiling and then closing her eyes. She shook her head, bracing her palms on the edge of the counter. “Everyone is seeing the sign. There’s no going back from this.” Glancing up, Cynthia sighed. “They bought us out this morning.”

  “Who?” But Abby knew, didn’t she? She knew what had happened, what always happened. There weren’t enough Smythes in town to keep the diner afloat. Especially not when most of the other Smythe businesses struggled themselves.

  The line had been drawn over a hundred years ago. The Baileys didn’t patronize Smythe companies and vice versa. Unfortunately, there were more Baileys than Smythes and they were slowly but surely choking the last of the Smythes from the town population.

  What would happen when the library was the last thing run by a Smythe? Abby’d lose her job because there wouldn’t be any Smythes on the town council to keep her in there.

  “Him. Titus Bailey. He came in yesterday and offered us top dollar. We…” She wiped at her damp cheeks, ignoring her husband who’d come up beside her. “No. I had to sell. He had my bank loan and we’re in default. He said we could keep the house or the business.” Cynthia glanced at George; the sloppy bun at the back of her head quivered as she shook her head. “I promised you better than this, George. I don’t know how we can stay now.”

  He glanced at the men at the counter but pulled Cynthia into his arms. Shorter than his wife by a few inches, George had the same issue that most men in the Smythe line had—he had to enter into a matriarchal situation. In most of the Smythe families, the female ran things.

  Much to the dismay of the Baileys.

  But it fit. How else would a family line where they only had daughters be able to survive? The requirement to marry a Smythe woman was for the man to take on her last name. The name had to be preserved. That was the most important thing that had been drilled into the main Smythe family for generations. Mrs. Davies had escaped that expectation since she’d been distantly related. That hadn’t kept her from being cursed with only daughters in her family as well.

  And the Baileys…they’d been cursed with only sons. Maybe it wasn’t a curse. They didn’t have any problems filling each generation with more and more Baileys. They went out into the world and brought back new blood.

  The sad part was the fact that the women never made it past a couple sons before they left or died. That was their curse. Abby had read more about the history of Bailey, Montana, then she’d read about the wars or anything else. Whether she believed in curses or not was something else entirely.

  Cynthia took a deep breath and turned her head from her husband’s shoulder to look at Abby. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll understand. We’ll keep working here as managers for as long as we can, but…he said things could continue as they are until he sees a drop in income and then he’s coming in to restructure.” She tossed a scathing glance around the interior of the diner. “Smythes won’t come to a Bailey diner and Baileys won’t come to a Smythe-run business. We’ll be out of here in a matter of days.”

  Titus. Abby knew who she was talking about. Everyone knew who Titus was. Abby clenched her hands at her sides, beset with memories of her own run-ins with the man. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to go into my normal booth.” She smiled at Cynthia, who nodded gratefully. Cynthia handed two menus to Abby, even though she and her mom had been to the diner every week for the last eight years. The menu hadn’t changed and neither had their orders.

  Abby slid into the booth, stopping in the center of the vinyl cushion. She tapped her toes and bit the inside of her cheek.

  Titus. Bailey. She hated him. Everything about him. Everywhere Abby went, Bailey was rubbed into her face. Everywhere she went, she had a reminder of what she’d lost. Who she’d lost.

  Her hate hadn’t started out that way. Even as the generational hate had been taught daily starting from when she was very young, Abby hadn’t understood why she should be careful around the Bailey Boys. That’s what they were called—the Bailey Boys. Never men. That would suggest that they had qualities the Smythes refused to acknowledge they might have.

  No. Abby hadn’t started out hating Titus. How did you hate someone you snuck out of your bedroom window to kiss in the hayfields? How did you hate someone you swore you were going to marry?

  But it couldn’t be. Abby had been willing to give everything up for him. Everything and everyone.

  Reality had destroyed her dreams. Even as she’d been willing to give it all up for him, he’d only grown more immersed in Bailey expectations. He’d crushed her dreams and broken her heart. Abby had never been able to get over it. Her love had darkened, soured, turned into a bitter contempt for the man and family. She’d taken on the feud, internalized it, and somehow made it hers.

  Peace and drama were Abby’s as long as she continued to search for clues to the rightful ownership of the town. She would take down the Baileys when she discovered the truth. Somehow, some way, she had to prove that the Smythes had legal rights to the town. If she could do that, the Baileys couldn’t destroy any more of the Smythes’ lives.

  “Hey, Abby, I’m glad you still came.” Her mom broke through Abby’s distracted thoughts, frowning as she sat across from her daughter. She looked around, pulling her coat from her shoulders and resting it on the side of the booth. She leaned across the table, eyebrows raised. “Can you believe this? We’ll need to find another place to eat.”

  Except where? All the rest of the restaurants were Bailey-owned. There was nowhere left.

  Abby shook her head, trying to rid her memories of ruined dreams and lost hope. She’d gotten through the last ten years. She could survive another fifty without him. She could do it. They never saw each other anyway. He stayed to his side of town and Abby stayed in hers.

  Her mother placed a paper bag on the table, right in the center, and wiggled her eyebrows at Abby. “You’ll never guess what I found.” She bounced excitedly on the seat. Her silver-laced blonde hair moved with her animation.

  “Anne, you look giddy as a school girl.” Cynthia set waters in front of them, then poured hot water into mugs on the table. Tea bags sat in the bowl beside the sugar, salt, and pepper on the table closest to the window. The booth was intimate without being confined.

  “I have good reason to, Cynthia. I found our great-great-great-however-many-greats grandmother’s journals in a trunk this morning.” She patted the bag and flicked her gaze between Cynthia and Abby. “I brought them so Abby could look them over.”

  Her excitement became Abby’s. Abby stared at the bag. “Really?” How long had Abby been looking for something from the Smythes to further her research? There wasn’t a lot of family history on the family since the names came from the women and genealogy programs focused on the patriarchal names. She couldn’t wait to read them and hoped the library wouldn’t get any patrons for a few more days.

  The door opened, a bell chiming to let the staff know they had more customers.

  Cynthia turned. Her shared excitement over Anne’s news faded and she patted the table. “I’ll bring your
meals in a few minutes, girls.” Her broad back covered Abby’s view of the newcomers. Cynthia called out, “Are you here to dine?” Her tone was tight and unwelcoming.

  Abby dipped her tea bag into the steaming water, waiting for Cynthia to move out of the way so she could see who had come in to deserve such treatment.

  “We’d like to dine.” That voice. Abby’s heart skipped, even through its hardened shell. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She’d never forget that voice with its deep timbre and husky edges. The lemon wedge on the side of her tea cup slipped out of her hands, hitting the spoon from its position on the saucer.

  The metal clanked on the laminate tabletop just as Cynthia shifted to the side. Abby glanced up as Titus Bailey looked in the direction of the noise. His gaze locked on hers and his smile faded as his startlingly green eyes took her in.

  He recognized her. No matter how much it hurt, at least he recognized her.

  Was it fair that not only was her favorite eating spot no longer an option, but her ruined dreams had just walked back into her day? No. Abby could answer that one without much thought. It wasn’t fair at all.

  Chapter 2

  Titus

  Abigail Smythe. Titus didn’t find anything about his day amusing. The newest addition to an already cruddy day shoved a knife into his heart and twisted. Twice.

  Even in the small town of Bailey, Titus hadn’t been in such close proximity to Abby since…he’d broken things off with her over a decade ago. He’d seen her around town, but he’d always ducked out of sight. Yeah, big, bad, brave man that he was. He hid when Abby was around.

  Everything inside him screamed for him to run, leave, this couldn’t be good, but he stayed. He hardened his expression and ignored her. That was all he could do. What should he do? Run to her and beg her to let him back into her life? He couldn’t do that. It’d been too long. She had to have moved on by then. He’d never heard of anything to suggest she had, but the Smythes and Baileys didn’t exactly share information on each other. Sadly, there wasn’t a spy system in place to cross the family feud either.