by Jessica Berg
“Who said I’d argue?” His eyebrow quirked. “Right, I won’t argue. I need you too much.” His hungry gaze landed on her lips. She stammered, “I mean for the construction project.”
His gaze flicked up, held hers. “Be ready in ten minutes. Wear jeans and tennis shoes.”
Grace stuck her tongue out at his retreating form. Smug man. With an incredibly nice backside. Chucking her empty pop bottle in the garbage, she snuck a glance out the window in time to see him jamming his fingers through his hair. Her fingers itched to do the same.
***
The smell first captured Grace’s attention and brought to life memories of her father. His tall form. His intelligent green eyes. His black hair matted and sweaty from wearing his Stetson all day. His strong arms hugging her and Phoebe after a long day on the ranch. It had been forever since she’d smelled the comforting aroma of a horse. The day after the last bit of dirt covered her beloved father’s coffin, she had left the ranch for good. With Jeremiah Wallace no longer there to comfort and guide his daughter, there was no point in going home.
Dominick spread his hands toward the red and white stables. “I heard from a reliable source you loved horses. Cheer you up after yesterday.”
She blinked. This man lived by her father’s motto. For the number of times she’d bucked him off, he had every right to take her out to the pasture and shoot her. “Thank you, but you don’t have to take time to do this for me. I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Grace. Don’t make a habit out of it. Besides,” he opened his door, “I need a little vacation as well. Your house is in good hands today.” He sauntered around the front of the truck and came around to the passenger side window and opened the door. “Do you need help unlatching your seatbelt, or should I assist you?”
She hit the little red button and hopped out. “This place is amazing.”
Five stables, all painted in red and white, dotted the vast property. White fences closed off several different exercise areas, each with different equine customers enjoying a run in the sunshine. The main house, done in the same color scheme as the stables, sat squarely in the middle with its towering three stories and wraparound porch adorned with white wicker rocking chairs and assorted terra cotta pots filled with red geraniums.
***
Through snooping, Dominick had found out from Annie that Grace had grown up on a ranch. Well, around here, this was as close as he could get. Panic rose in his chest as tears streaked down her face. Now he’d gone and done it. What had he said? What had he done? Did she hate horses? There was only one way to find out.
“Grace?” He tentatively touched her arm.
She dashed away the tears. “I’m okay. It’s just some memories. It was nice of you to bring me here. It’s been a while.”
Relief flooded through him. But why the tears? Sooner or later, he’d find out what haunted his green-eyed Spitfire. “We don’t have to stay. I don’t want this to be a painful experience.”
“No. You don’t understand how much I need this.”
Emboldened, he led the way to the house. “I called the other day and made appointments. The owner is a friend of mine. We have all day.” He dug the toe of his work boots in the dirt. “I ordered a picnic as well. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
His heart banged in his chest. He’d expected a negative answer but got the opposite. He took his baseball cap off and scratched his head. He’d never met a more confusing woman in his life, and he wanted to figure her out.
He nudged at his gray-dappled gelding’s sides. Spackle, the stupidest name for a horse he’d ever heard, took the command and lengthened its stride. The thundering hooves of Grace’s palomino, Velvet, echoed next to him as they rode over rolling hills and treeless landscape. June’s heat had all but decimated a few wildflowers still clinging to life. Their small yellow faces staring challengingly into the sun reminded him of Grace. He flicked his gaze over to her. She rode with ease, her body long and lean in the saddle, her hair, undone from its confines, flew behind her. His chest tightened.
“Something wrong?” Dominick pulled back on the reins as Grace slowed her mount. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but her whole body quivered.
“No. I was —” Her tongue darted out, licked at her lips. “Just thinking. That’s all.” All her attention centered on untangling a knot from Velvet’s mane.
He took her lie in stride. “Well,” Dominick grinned, “in that case … race ya’!” He spurred his horse into action and barreled across the prairie, barely hearing her yelp something about not being fair. Within seconds, she was next to him, her body leaned over her mare’s neck. Whatever she spoke into Velvet’s ear had the horse kicking into high gear, leaving Dominick and Spackle in the dust.
By the time he and his poor excuse for a horse reached the picnic spot, she had already watered and tethered Velvet to a tree branch.
“What took you so long?” She hefted the saddlebags off the saddle.
“Using rocket fuel while horse racing is considered illegal in all fifty states.” He grunted in pain as he slid to the ground. “Whoa. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the saddle.”
She snorted a laugh and waved her finger at him. He patted his horse’s sweaty neck. “They cheated. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your buddies.” He trekked to the small pond in the center of a tiny oasis in the middle of the dry prairie. Spackle meekly followed after, his grey speckled head hung in defeat. Stupid horse.
Grace sat on the red-checkered blanket and leaned against a gnarly oak tree standing in a small circle towering over the brown grassland. Underneath their shady boughs, however, green grass flourished. The tiny purple and orange wildflowers springing up in the sunnier spots couldn’t compete with the woman currently stretched out, her long legs capturing his attention. She leaned her head back, exposing her long, tanned neck. Shadow and light played across her upturned face.
“You’re doing a lot of thinking lately.” Dominick crouched beside her.
She offered him a pink lemonade bottle and set out the provided picnic. There were ham sandwiches, potato chips, pickles, and little Hostess cakes as the finale. “Yeah. It’s not doing me a whole lot of good anyway. I should quit while I’m ahead.”
He grabbed for a ham sandwich, removed it from its plastic bag, “What are you thinking about?” He ignored her scowl. “Hey, talking things through helps a lot of people. Use me as your sounding board. Maybe it will help.”
She eyed him. Grabbed for a sandwich. “I’m thinking about my father a lot.”
“Where is he?”
“Heaven.”
“I’m sorry, Grace.” He reached for her hand, delighted she didn’t pull away from his touch.
“He … ah … he was murdered three years ago.” Her voice hitched, and she viciously dashed away at the tears.
He thumbed a tear away before it could drip off her chin. “I’m truly sorry. Want to talk about him.” Sensing she needed space, he dropped his hand and grabbed a pickle from a container. “If he was anything like you, I bet he was quite the character.”
“My father was a good man, a little rough around the edges to some, but to those who truly knew him, he was a big ole’ teddy bear. Before Phoebe and I were born, he was the sheriff.” Grace cleared her throat. “He, uh, put a guy named Roy Muldoon away for drug dealing and several illegal weapons charges. When Roy got out of prison, he took revenge on my father by kidnapping us.” Her voice hitched. “We were so little. It wasn’t hard for Roy to manhandle us into the van. I don’t remember any of it, to be honest with you. Part of me wishes I did, but I can’t conjure up any images. Phoebe says it’s because our brains are trying to protect us.” She stretched her neck, the tightness in her muscles traveling up her head, pounding on her skull. “Maybe she’s right. I don’t know.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He ran his finger over the back of her hand.
“Not if you count the r
ope burns. No. He never hurt us physically or … well … you know. I don’t know what his plans for us were, but thank God he never got a chance. My father and a team of law enforcement officials finally tracked him down.” Her voice shuddered, “Here.”
He took both her hands in his. “Here? What do you mean here?”
“Beacon, Kansas.”
“Where specifically in Beacon?”
“The old house you are currently working on.”
“Why are you here, Grace? What made you come back to a house that holds nothing but nightmares for you?”
Her eyes close, her head dipped. “If the horse bucks you off…”
He cocked his head. “You’re hoping coming back to this place will what?”
“Phoebe and I …” She dropped his gaze, tugged her hands from his, and ripped open a little Hostess cake. “I want closure. I want something to make sense. And there is a spot deep inside me that knows my father’s murder was payback for what happened in that house.”
Dominick grabbed his own little cake. “What happened, Grace?”
“It was in every paper around the area.”
“I was only five at the time.”
She packed away the garbage. “My father, in an attempt to rescue Phoebe and me, killed Roy. It was a righteous kill, nothing vigilante about it. Roy pulled a gun on my father. My father just pulled the trigger faster.”
“I can’t believe you had to go through that.” He pulled her to him, stopping her frantic cleaning. “Stop. Just stop.”
Grace spun, her arms lashing at him. “No!”
Surprised by her retort, he let go and backed up a few steps. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to know it’s going to be okay.”
“How do you know? Have you lost your father or mother?” Her voice broke.
“No. I haven’t lost my parents, but I still know what it’s like to lose someone you love more than anything in the world.” He dipped his head at the memory of his dead wife, of holding her body as her last breaths escaped her.
She reached out to him, in apology, in sympathy, it didn’t matter. He pulled away and packed up the picnic. He didn’t want her touching him now, not with the pain pooling in his chest. Not with the resurrected memories playing in his head.
With a heavy sigh, she joined him, the silence unbearable. He slung the saddlebags over Spackle and Velvet’s rumps, his muscles straining. For all his outer strength, he knew his soul, a wounded and haunted one, lay wounded and helpless, much like his wife. He fitted his foot in the stirrup, settled in the saddle, and raced off, Grace and his memories nipping at his heels.
Chapter 15
Grace, chin resting in her palm, watched the wedding party enter the VFW. Phoebe sat next to her, neck extended as far as possible to ogle the bridesmaid dresses.
“Don’t they look cute, especially Noah? He’s like a life-sized Ken doll. My Ken doll always lacked a head. Why did my Ken doll never have a head? Nevermind, doesn’t matter. I’m just happy Noah has a head.” Phoebe sipped on her Sex on the Beach. “This drink is good.”
“Yeah, and it’s also your second. If you keep drinking like this, I’ll have to roll you back to the hotel room.”
Phoebe continued slurping and oohing and awing.
Grace maneuvered her way to the bar. “Whiskey diet, please.”
The bride and groom and wedding party sat on the dais. She’d hardly recognized Dominick when he’d entered the building. She licked her lips. His kiss haunted her. His head dipping to capture her … the memory of her behavior during the picnic smacked away his molten chocolate eyes and luscious kisses. Why did she become a raging moron around him? Maybe it was for the best. She didn’t need relationship complications now, anyway. She’d get him out of her mind. That’s all. But he wasn’t making matters better tonight, looking all James Bondish in his black tuxedo. She wanted to trace his scar with her fingertip. She wanted his lips on hers again. Cursing, she grabbed her drink, slapped some money on the bar, and waded through the crowd.
She found Phoebe sipping on her second drink and flirting with a long-haired hippy and seated herself next to her buzzed sister.
“Hey there, Pheebs. What’y doing?”
Phoebe finished her drink. “Talking with this nice young man.”
Grace studied the “nice young man.” Long, greasy hair hung like rat tails over the guy’s scrawny shoulders. He looked like a young man going on fifty, and he smelled oddly like weed. “I smelled the oddest thing as I walked by the door,” she sniffed, “coulda swore I smelled marijuana.”
He dashed out the door.
“Ah, that sucks. You meet a nice man and puff … I mean … poof. He’s gone.”
“Yeah, it happens to the best of us. Besides, Noah would not approve.” Grace glanced at Phoebe’s empty glass. “Oh, and by the way, no more girly drinks for at least another hour.”
“How ‘bout if I have one of them there manly drinks like you?”
“No.”
Dinner was served. Grace overate and drank another whiskey diet to drown her guilt. Successful evening so far. She didn’t need to look in his direction. Knowing he was in the same room was enough to send her into a tizzy.
An hour later, Phoebe, with permission to have a third drink, perched happily on her chair and watched as tables were cleared to make room on the dance floor.
“I love to dance.”
Grace remembered an infamous high school dance where Phoebe had attempted the Running Man and had sprained both ankles. “You’re so graceful too.”
A little too tipsy to recognize sarcasm, Phoebe beamed with pride. “Darn right, sister.”
“Pheebs, you are one of a kind. What would I do without you?”
“Be bored.”
“This is true.”
Lauren and Bruce, now man and wife, shimmied on to the dance floor and danced their first wedding dance together. In spite of Bruce’s Mohawk, Lauren gazed at him with perfect love. Grace swallowed a lump in her throat. She, too, had adored Kevin like that once. She soothed her hurt memories with more alcohol.
Following the bride and groom dance, Lauren danced with her father, and Bruce danced with his mother, who oddly enough sported a mullet. She must have lost a bet too.
The wedding party danced the next dance. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Dominick and his partner. The maid of honor, the same blonde-haired skinny skank from the beach, laughed at him and wrapped her arms seductively around his tanned neck. Grace squeezed the edge of the table. The fire engine red dress did nothing to hide the sumptuous body writhing against his. Her boobs nearly spilled out of the V-cut top, and her tanned thigh kept playing peek-a-boo through the slit in the leg.
“Can I kill her?” Grace asked Phoebe.
“Who?”
She pointed to Dominick’s dance partner. Phoebe stared at the woman for a few seconds, “Why do you want to kill Molly?” The proverbial light bulb went off over her head. “Oh. It’s generally frowned upon to kill the maid of honor at a wedding.”
“I thought you’d say that. I could jump her after the wedding.”
“You could, but you’re too pretty to go to prison.”
“I’m not as pretty as Miss-Look-At-Me-I’m-A-Skank.”
Phoebe hiccuped and leaned dangerously off her stool to fix a stray ringlet Grace had carefully curled. “Nope. You’re wrong. Not in that dress. I’m sure Dominick is wondering where you hid all those curves.” Another hiccup. “And your shoes? To. Die. For.” She pulled Grace to her and whispered in her ear. “Skanky Maid is nowhere near your caliber. You are looking fine, sis.” She released her and slurped at her drink. “Can I have another?”
“No.”
“Ah, man. But they’re tasty.”
The wedding party filtered off the dance floor and the DJ flipped songs, the room now pumping with Bon Jovi. She had no claims on Dominick, had, in fact, pushed him away at every opportunity, but watching him lead Molly to the floor and dance, had her body going hot
with jealousy.
“Dance with me.” Phoebe yanked on her arm.
“I don’t feel like dancing.”
Phoebe pouted. “Pretty please! I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
Yeah, right. Dressed in a spaghetti-strapped pink dress, her black hair swept back into a messy bun with diamond earrings sparkling at her ears, Phoebe looked the perfect princess. She snorted. “Lead the way.”
Phoebe dragged her to the dance floor. “You Shook Me All Night Long” reverberated through the speakers and the dance floor filled. Five songs later and just as “Pour Some Sugar on Me” poured out from the speakers, Grace held up a hand and signaled to Phoebe she needed to sit. Phoebe gave her a thumbs-up, found Noah, and jammed out to the next song.
Grace excused her way to the bar and ordered another whiskey diet.
“Thirsty?”
She didn’t jump this time. She knew who it was. “Nope, trying to get drunk.”
His eyebrow lifted, his gaze never wavering. He’d removed the tux jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves. The sexy casual look agreed with him. She snapped her eyes from his and waited impatiently for her drink.
“Having fun?”
“Sure.” The bartender handed her the drink. She plunked money on the bar and walked away.
Dominick followed close after her. “In polite society, people usually don’t walk away from a conversation.”
She calmly sat and sipped her drink. Dominick scooted in beside her, opened his mouth to speak.
“There you are. I was worried you’d left me.” Skanky Maid leaned over the table, squishing her amble bosom together. Grace absently wondered if they were real.
He blushed. “I was getting a drink and stopped to talk to a friend.”
Friend? Grace snorted into her drink. Molly shot her a glance and promptly ignored her. She batted her eyelashes. “Come on, Dominick. You promised me the first slow song. I requested our song. The DJ said he’d play it next.”
Grace sat in horrified silence. She watched the ice bob in her drink and wished Dominick and his date would go away.
