Man Find (Bergen Brothers Book 3) Page 2

  Cadence stared at the screen and released a sad little sigh. Of course, she was happy to hear from her friend—and the doorknob was a lucky find. She’d dedicated herself to following the plan of renovating the Denver paired home with as many original pieces as possible, which included finding two more sets of two-and-a-quarter inch eight-point glass doorknobs with daisy centers. These lovely knobs were the last historic items she needed to find, and she’d been searching Denver antique shops and online for the elusive knobs for the last year and a half.

  But doorknobs weren’t what had been weighing heavy on her heart.

  She was hoping the message had been from someone else.

  Someone she knew only as Mountain Mac.

  She put the key in the ignition and headed toward Denver’s Antique Row. Thanks to the light Saturday traffic and the city parking gods throwing her a bone, she found a spot right outside the shop.

  She entered the store and froze at the commotion unfolding in front of her.

  Standing a few feet away next to a shabby chic bassinet, her friend, Abby Quinn, clutched a pair of glass knobs to her chest while a small woman with beady eyes reached for the goods.

  Cadence shook her head. Yep, this really happened. She’d seen actual fights break out at flea markets and vintage shops. People looking to score the next million-dollar one of a kind item scoured these places like vultures, and it could get real—faster than you could say Antiques Roadshow.

  “One, two, three! Eyes on me!” Cadence called out, but the beady-eyed woman didn’t stop and continued pawing at her friend.

  “I already tried that!” Abby answered, angling her body away from the handsy woman.

  Cadence looked around. There was no shopkeeper in sight, but she did see a light switch.

  Time to take it up a level.

  She flipped the switch, and the shop went dark. “Heads down! Thumbs up!” she called, evoking the teacher trick that could silence a rowdy herd of children in two-seconds flat.

  She could only hope it would work on an obsessed antique doorknob fanatic.

  The woman stilled and squinted her eyes in the dim light. “What did you say?”

  Cadence stepped forward. “I said, heads down. Thumbs up.”

  “Why in the world would you turn off the lights and say that?”

  Cadence took another step forward. “Because, ma’am, it looks like you need a little time out. We don’t grab things from others. We use our words.”

  “But I could sell those doorknobs on eBay for double what they’re asking for here,” the woman whined.

  Cadence clucked her tongue. “It looks to me like my friend Abby had those doorknobs first.”

  The woman stomped her foot. “But I want them.”

  Abby maneuvered around the woman, then turned and held her beady gaze. “It’s hard when we don’t get the things we want. But I know that next time you see someone holding something you’d like to play with, you’ll ask first.”

  The woman nodded. “Okay! Can I have the doorknobs?”

  Cadence shared a look with Abby and bit back a grin. “No way! Finders keepers, losers weepers, lady!”

  “Well, I never…” the woman huffed and pushed past her, leaving the store.

  The shop door slammed behind the rude woman, and Abby laughed. “You are one naughty schoolteacher, Cadence Lowry.”

  “That woman needed some serious redirection. And we work our asses off during the school year. Come the first of June, I use my Jedi Knight teacher powers for good…and for evil.”

  Abby handed her the glass knobs. “Nice touch using the light switch. Now, please tell me I didn’t almost lose a limb for the wrong glass doorknobs.”

  The lights came on, and an older gentleman in a newsboy cap ambled over. “Ah! I see you’ve found my latest find.”

  Cadence glanced down at the knobs as the light sparkled off the cut glass encasing the delicate daisy-center design, and she could hear Aaron’s voice.

  This is it, babe! This is the house. The daisies are a sign. We can make this work. We can live in one side and rent the other. This is where we’re going to raise Bodhi. This is where we’re going to grow old together.

  “Miss?” he said gently.

  She shrugged off the memory. “Yes, I’ve been searching for these. I’m renovating a 1930s paired home in Denver’s Baxter Park neighborhood.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “A paired home! Those are quite rare in Baxter Park. Are you renovating one or both of the connected units?”

  “We’re…I mean, I’m renovating both.”

  He frowned. “By yourself?”

  Cadence lifted her chin. “Yes, by myself. Why would you even ask that? Is it because I’m a woman?”

  He put up his hands. “I meant no offense. It’s simply quite an undertaking to renovate one historic home, let alone two.”

  She let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump all over you. You’re not wrong. It can be challenging at times.”

  Challenging wasn’t even the half of it. It was a lot taking on a renovation. It was a heck of a lot—especially for someone with zero building knowledge.

  The man gave her a kind grin. “You’ve got spirit. I imagine there’s not much you can’t do when you put your mind to it. The daisy knobs suit you well.”

  Cadence watched the man closely. “What do you mean?”

  “The daisy is considered the thunder flower.”

  Cadence shared a look with Abby, and her friend shrugged her shoulders.

  “Daisy is my middle name.”

  The shopkeeper nodded. “Then it’s even more apropos.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “I’ve never heard it called the thunder flower.”

  The man gestured to the daisy on the knob. “The daisy not only remains unharmed after a thunderstorm—it thrives. They’re survivors.”

  Survivors.

  Cadence swallowed hard and pasted on a grin. “Well, the place was in quite a state of disrepair when we…I purchased the paired homes. They were missing several sets of these antique daisy doorknobs when I took possession. I’ve been able to find most of them, but I’m still missing a few. So, thunder flower or not, I’m on the lookout for a couple more sets.”

  “Lucky for you, your friend got that set before Mrs. Hilderman.”

  “You saw that?” Abby asked, hand on her hip.

  The man grimaced. “That woman’s been coming here every day for the last year or so. She only sees dollar signs when she rummages through my treasures. I’ve found the best way to deal with her is by hiding in the back until she leaves.”

  Cadence glanced down at the doorknobs. “Rest assured, I certainly won’t be selling these on the internet.”

  The man nodded. “Those doorknobs were meant for you. Antiques are special. They connect the past to the present. They have a history, and there’s true beauty in their imperfections.”

  Cadence gave the man what she hoped was a pleasant grin.

  Her mask. Her facade.

  She wore her scars on the inside, and if she’d tried to speak, her words would have defied her manufactured agreeable demeanor and come out cracked and broken.

  “Let’s see,” the shopkeeper said, glancing at the small price tag tied to the doorknobs. “They’re marked as fifty dollars. But what would you say to thirty-five?”

  Relief washed over her. She had a hundred dollars left to get them through the week, until she got paid, and she could stretch sixty-five dollars like nobody’s business.

  And more than that—she needed these doorknobs, and if that meant she ate mac and cheese straight for the next couple of days, then put a pot on the stove and get the water boiling.

  She glanced from the knobs back to the shopkeeper. “I’d say, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Wonderful! Let me write up the bill of sale and wrap them up for you,” the man said, taking the knobs and heading behind the counter to an antique cash register.

&n
bsp; She turned to Abby. “I owe you big-time for finding those daisy doorknobs and for guarding them from that beady-eyed antiques bandit. How can I make it up to you?”

  Abby’s face lit up. “Easy! Agree to be one of my bridesmaids.”

  “I’d be honored,” Cadence answered and embraced her friend. “And I’m happy to help out with whatever you need for the wedding.”

  “You mean that?” Abby asked.

  “Absolutely!”

  Abby sighed. “That gives me such peace of mind. Planning a Bergen wedding is no small feat. My cousin, Elle, is going to be my matron of honor, but she’s pregnant with the twins, and I don’t want her overextending herself.”

  “It must be hard with the both of you being engaged to billionaire Bergen brothers,” Cadence answered with a cheeky grin.

  Abby practically glowed with happiness. “Who would have thought that Elle and I would end up marrying brothers?”

  Cadence squeezed her friend’s hand. “I’m really happy for you both,” she said when her smartphone pinged an incoming message. She pulled her cell from her pocket and smiled down at the picture of her son, grinning ear to ear and swinging at a piñata.

  “Everything okay?” Abby asked.

  Cadence held out her phone. “Sandy Boyd sent a picture of Bodhi. He’s at Porter’s birthday sleepover.”

  “I hope they’ve alerted the fire department,” Abby said with a sly curl to her lips before her expression grew pensive.

  Cadence frowned. “What is it?”

  Her friend gestured to the phone. “Still nothing from your Man Find?”

  “Oh, Abby,” Cadence huffed.

  “What?” Abby asked with a smirk. “You’ve found a nice guy online. You just can’t find him in the real world.”

  Cadence shook her head, chuckling at Abby’s name for…Holy pickles and relish, what would you call him? Her pen pal? Her mountain bike forum friend? Her online beau? The person—whoever he was—who made her laugh, who messaged her late into the night about things as silly as how to hard boil an egg to questions about life and the universe and what was the point of existing on this tiny rock floating through space.

  Cadence pocketed her phone. “No, he’s been MIA for the past week.”

  Abby crossed her arms. “Did you guys have a falling out?”

  Cadence sighed. “I thought, just the opposite. We’ve been corresponding for nearly a year. Sometimes several times a day.”

  He made her laugh. And while she had a beautiful son and good friends, she didn’t have anyone to hold her at night, and his messages filled the void that had been left the day Aaron died, and she became a widow at the age of twenty-five.

  Cadence shook her head. “We’ve never seen each other. We don’t even know each other’s real name. But a week ago, I took a picture and sent it to him.”

  Her friend’s eyes went wide. “Of yourself?”

  “No, just a quick photo of my bike and the trail around Baxter Park. He’s the one who helped me figure out the kind of bike to get. That’s how we met on that mountain biking chat forum.” She stared out the shop window. “Maybe it’s for the best that he’s gone silent.”

  “Why do you say that?” Abby asked.

  Cadence swallowed hard. “Because sometimes, I feel like I’m cheating on my dead husband with a person I’ve never met—when what I need to be doing is putting all my energy into fulfilling Aaron’s dream of fixing up the units.”

  Abby’s expression softened. “Cadence you’re putting everything you have into renovating the houses and caring for Bodhi. I never got to meet Aaron. But I can’t imagine he’d be upset that you’ve met someone who makes you happy.”

  “But I haven’t, Abby—not really.”

  Abby chewed her lip. “And you’re sure your Man Find is a he?”

  Cadence shrugged. “His handle is Mountain Mac. I guess that could be a guy or a girl.”

  But her heart believed it was a man. It had to be. Even though she knew nothing about Mountain Mac, she knew everything. Nights spent curled up in bed messaging back and forth, her cheeks hurting from smiling.

  “What’s your handle?” Abby asked.

  She glanced at her phone. “Mountain Daisy.”

  Abby patted her arm. “Well, Mountain Daisy, I know how to get your mind off of Mountain Mac.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Cake.”

  “Cake?” she echoed.

  Abby glanced at her watch. “Go pay for your doorknobs. We’re going to a wedding cake tasting. You’re coming with me to Brennen’s grandparents’ house to try about six thousand different flavors of wedding cake. And if there’s one sure-fire thing that can mend a broken heart—it’s got to be cake.”

  Cadence opened her purse and handed the shopkeeper the majority of the bills in her wallet then glanced back at her friend. “Are there any extra billionaire Bergen brothers lying around at the Bergen estate? You and your cousin seem blissfully happy.”

  Abby shrugged. “Sorry, Mountain Daisy, I can’t promise that. Just the cake.”

  Cadence sighed. “Then cake it is! Lead the way.”

  2

  Camden

  Camden Bergen signaled for a cab outside Denver International Airport as the early June mountain air filled his lungs.

  Christ, he’d done it. After ten long years, the runaway Bergen heir was back, and nobody knew it.

  And that was just the way he needed it to stay.

  A cab stopped in front of him, and he got in.

  The driver glanced back, and for a second, Cam thought the man had recognized him until the cabbie’s gaze traveled to the back seat where his well-used Bergen Mountain Sports backpack sat, tattered and faded, then slid to his ripped jeans and worn T-shirt.

  “You better have the cash to pay, buddy,” the cabbie said, taking in his dark, scruffy beard and wild tangle of hair.

  Camden reached for his wallet and handed the man a fifty. “I think this should cover my fare.”

  He had one stop to make before starting this crazy escapade that had led him back to the place he’d sworn never to return.

  The man pocketed the cash. “Where to?” he asked, still eyeing him warily.

  Camden handed the man a torn piece of paper with an address.

  The cabbie took the paper and entered the information into his phone. “You better not be pulling my chain, man.”

  “I’m not,” Cam answered, voice void of emotion.

  The cabbie caught his eye in the rearview mirror then looked away as he maneuvered the car into traffic. “I’ve been driving a cab in this city for twenty years. You look a little familiar. Are you from around here?”

  “Not anymore,” Cam answered. He came from Colorado’s most affluent family, but nobody could know that.

  The cabbie shook his head, giving him one last glance in the mirror before turning on a talk radio station.

  The commentator’s voice droned in the background as Cam pulled out his smartphone and opened the internet browser to the mountain sports chat forum and his pulse raced.

  Mountain Daisy.

  He stared at the two words on his phone then scrolled down to the picture posted on the private chat page he’d created on the forum for just the two of them, known only as Mountain Daisy and Mountain Mac.

  His visits to the chat forum had started out as a form of self-imposed punishment. A punishment for failing his family.

  The world may not know the real story.

  But he did.

  And all these years later, he could still smell the exhaust. Hear the squeal of the tires and the gut-wrenching sound of twisting metal pierce the night air just like it was yesterday.

  Each time he’d logged on to the chat forum, he’d be reminded of his old life a decade ago before it all went to hell.

  Days spent weaving perfect S-curves into the side of Bergen Mountain as he skied with his brothers in the winter and early spring months. Pedaling hard and catching air while mountain biking
on the twisting rocky trails he and his father liked to ride during the summer and fall.

  But he’d never interacted with anyone on the site until he read her post:

  Colorado gal with zero mountain biking knowledge seeks advice. D-canoes need not reply.

  —Mountain Daisy

  Nearly a year ago, she’d been the reason he’d laughed for the first time in ages.

  He’d barely recognized the sound.

  He didn’t own a television or a computer. His smartphone was the only connection he’d had with the outside world. His grandmother had insisted on that, and he’d used it to remind himself of everything he’d lost until Mountain Daisy’s post caught his attention like a beacon of light leading him out of the darkness.

  He’d replied immediately to her query—his heart overpowering his mind. Growing up as a Bergen, he’d had every opportunity to use the best mountain sports gear, and he was still an expert mountain biker. It was the only pleasure he’d allowed himself over the past decade while living hidden away in the Swiss Alps over five thousand miles from the life he’d once cherished in Denver.

  He’d typed out a few lines in reply, suggested a couple of bikes, and told her to make sure whatever bike she got, it needed to have disc brakes and a detachable derailer. It was basic information she could have gotten anywhere, but he’d be lying if he said his heart hadn’t skipped a beat when the gray italicized Mountain Daisy is typing message appeared seconds after he’d hit send.

  And that’s how his ascent from hell began.

  One message led to two, then ten. And soon, they were corresponding every day—sometimes, several times a day. She was funny and sweet. Sure, they’d messaged about biking, but after a week or so, their conversations shifted. Sometimes they were silly and made him laugh—like when she told him about watching a vegetarian eat animal crackers and wasn’t sure what to make of it. And sometimes they touched on life and happiness and the deeper questions, often easier confronted under the cloak of anonymity.

  Do you believe in fate?

  Did you ever imagine you’d be right where you are at this exact moment?

  But the picture she’d posted a week ago to their private chat page had to be a sign.